A Coffin Full of Roses
by Ayame99
Summary: It starts off as a game. And Undertaker loves a good game, but all games come to an end eventually. It's time for him to make a real move when Grell comes a'knocking and makes a sweet deal with him. Then a fun-filled day turns into a steam-filled night. Yaoi
1. Part 1

**Summary:** It starts off as a game. And Undertaker loves a good game, but all games come to an end eventually. It's time for him to make a real move when Grell comes a'knocking and makes a sweet deal with him. A fun-filled day turns into a steam-filled night.

**Warnings: Yaoi Mature Content**

* * *

><p><strong>Part 1<strong>

Grell was feeling bored…

And it wasn't a pretty sight when this melodramatic shinigami got bored. Ah yes, Grell is a shinigami, a death god, a grim reaper, name it what you will, and a hell of a good one at that. When he wasn't being a moron, that is. His shift ended twenty minutes ago, successfully reaping all the souls on his list, which should make William proud, he hoped.

Oh gawds! It had better please that stuck up supervisor of his or he and that man will have words, words of the screeching, theatrical variety.

As Grell strolled along the streets of London, the sky above gloomy and overcast, an ominous morning fog lingering above the cobblestone ways, he considered if screeching at William would only get him into trouble again. Will certainly had little tolerance for his complaints, which were infinite so he says. Hell, he barely had tolerance for most things enjoyable and fun. The thought made Grell release a small, depressed sigh. Even though Grell was melodramatic, he could eventually search deeper within to find a more sensible solution. Unfortunately, the sensible solution didn't always enter his mind at the moment when it would help him most.

That's how he got himself into trouble. Often.

He wasn't in the mood to return to his Realm since everyone was probably still reaping or worse, doing tedious paperwork once they got back to the office. There was definitely no fun in that.

Work. Was. For. _Suckers._

The _real_ fun, was reaping souls and ripping them up with his Death Scythe, which came in the form of a menacing chainsaw with a red engine and was often accompanied, by Grell's manic laughter. The _real_ fun, was watching the blood flow out of the mortals, the crimson pools he created like morbid abstract paintings, beautiful pieces of work that he admired greatly.

After all, red was Grell's favourite colour.

But everyone knew that.

Red was the colour of his long, flowing hair. Sometimes it was the colour of his lipstick and his nail polish, when motivation arose for that sort of primping. It was the colour of his reaper's glasses, red square frames with a beaded neck chain with little skulls to decorate it, but the chain also helped to prevent losing them, since he could be such a klutz. Still, it was imperative that he does not lose them, seeing as all shinigami wore glasses to correct their bad, nearsighted vision.

Red was also the colour of his coat (taken from his ex-beloved mistress, Madam Red, better known as Angelina Durless and Ceil Phantomhive's aunt), which often rested at his elbows and floated on the air behind his back. Underneath the coat, he wore a crisp white linen shirt with a dark vest and a red and white stripped bow tie and a dark pair of dress pants. His black and red high-heeled boots gave him an additional few inches to his height and emphasized his feminine predilection.

As he wandered into a familiar part of town, heels clicking loudly and pointedly, as if each step accentuated his irritable boredom, a sudden idea came to mind. A most delightful want began to build inside his chest, one could say in other areas as well, ho-ho, but that is another story.

A menacing shark-toothed grin morphed his features from a beautiful, handsome reaper into a diabolical troublemaker in mere seconds.

"Today, you old fiend—" Grell gasped as he realized what he started to say, wrapping his arms around himself and hugging his middle gleefully, "—my mistake, old you may be, a diamond in the rough and you know what they say about diamonds." His deep laughter came lewdly. "…a girl's best friend."

When Grell realized there was something he wanted, he would do just about anything to get it.

It's wrong to deny a lady after all…

Off he went, using the rooftops to get to his new destination faster, finding a solution to his mundane and boring situation. There was always a certain person he could depend on for a healthy dose of shits and giggles.

Leaping down from the rooftop across the street, Grell landed gracefully in front of Undertaker's funeral parlor. The two-story shop was one of many along the street, wedged in the middle somewhere, as inconspicuous and sinister as the loon inside probably wanted it to be. For the said loon, was actually a grim reaper himself, retired from the business, but, nonetheless a full-fledged reaper with a helluva record under his belt. Now the retired reaper was a mortician.

_Suitable really_, Grell thought with a flippant shrug of his shoulders.

But never mind that. He was on a mission, a most beautiful mission, which was sure to make his day, perhaps his _entire_ week! Why, just the thought of it made Grell squeal with anticipation.

Grell's squealing was much louder than he realized when the front door opened and out popped Undertaker's head curiously. It took him a moment to realize what all the ruckus was about.

"My, my, it's just you, Mr. Sutcliff." Undertaker said with an unnervingly deep, mischievous voice. "He-he, for a moment there, I thought someone was dying right here on the step of my shop." He twittered delightfully at the irony of his statement.

Grell instantly got a grip on himself and glowered at the man in his creepy, oversized hat. "I told you before to _never_ use that kind of language with me, Undertaker." He snapped out the old reaper's name with distain and an indignant huff.

Undertaker immediately feigned forgiveness and gave Grell a deep bow, his long, flowing sleeves sweeping across his front, a huge grin hidden on his pale, scared face.

"My sincerest apologies – _my lady –_ I must have forgotten. How very ill-mannered of me," he said notably, using a most capable formal tone when such a need was required.

Undertaker's antics went completely unnoticed by Grell who was impressed by his hasty subservience. So an old dog _can_ learn new tricks. He awarded the freaky old reaper with a sharp-toothed smile.

"Right, and don't you forget that, mister." Grell urged hotly with one indignant hand on his hip and the other wagging a black-gloved finger at the regretful mortician.

Inside, Undertaker was snickering the whole time, happy trails creeping over his skin as if tiny spiders crawled beneath his clothes. Grell was simply too easy to bait, a promise of much laughter and amusement for him whenever he came to visit. In fact, Undertaker was thrilled to see the other shinigami, delightfully surprised but… delightfully suspicious also.

Was he here to play another game with him? Undertaker loved a good game.

The Undertaker regained his stature, standing to his full height, which towered over Grell's even if the redhead was in heels. "I was about to pour my morning cup of tea before getting to work, my dear Grell," Undertaker shared pleasantly. "You are more than welcome to join me, if you like."

It was a foot in the door and Grell jumped on the opportunity. "I'd be delighted, as long as there isn't anything weird in the tea. My digestion is rather… sensitive."

As much as he admired Undertaker, for his reaping prowess, for his concealed good looks, Grell still felt a touch uneasy around the man. For one good reason, the man is crazy! One could never really tell what Undertaker was thinking or what he was going to do, or even worse, what he's already done. Although, many individuals call Grell 'crazy' too, but he could not seem to make the comparison between himself and Undertaker. He was a woman of passion, after all, he couldn't help that he was such a first-rate, bloodthirsty actress.

Grell's real concern was how to get Undertaker to do his bidding today. He was a sneaky one, that mortician, and he wasn't sure what tactic to use to fool the old fool.

"Now what sort of 'weird' things could I possibly put in your tea, my friend?" Undertaker giggled quietly into his sleeve and cocked his head to one side in question.

Grell rolled his eyes at that reply and decided to put on his womanly charms. "Oh I dunno, perhaps an eye of newt or something repulsive like that. Only the gods know what you do with yourself."

_That_ wasn't exactly charming but he wasn't finished yet. He took a step closer, reaching over and gently collected a lock of Undertaker's long, silvery hair, including the long thin braid, drawing it over the fingers of his black glove flirtatiously. "Somehow," Grell began seductively, "You strike me as that kind of guy, so… _mysterious_._"_

Behind the fringe of hair that hid Undertaker's eyes, a pair of brows lifted. Grell nearly caught him off guard but for only a few seconds, before a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth and a bizarre laugh burst forth.

"Oh that was good, my dear. HE-HE-HE!"

Grell didn't understand, was the man immune to being flirted with? Maybe his many years of existence turned him into a dullard. No one should be able to resist his persuasion!

Undertaker's laughter stopped almost as suddenly as it started and he swept in even closer, hunkering next to Grell's face, poking a long black fingernail under his cute little chin _so_ _fast_, that the redhead didn't even see it coming.

Grell gave a tiny shriek and stumbled back. Undertaker caught him by the lapels of his red coat swiftly, hauling him back up to his feet and jerking the red reaper closer to him. Grell's boots were barely touching the ground.

The mortician's grip was intense.

Ooooh! The old reaper was still so quick, such brute strength, Grell thought as his wide yellow-green eyes stared at the diagonal scar slashed across Undertaker's face. He hadn't really been the recipient of Undertaker's manhandling before and the aggressive display sent scrumptious shivers up his spine.

It had a fawning Grell, blushing.

"That sort of practice, my dear, is for witches and warlocks. I'm just a simple undertaker… not a magician," Undertaker assured softly, yet his demeanor spelled menace. "I promise you it is a fine quality tea imported from some faraway land—only the finest for my _guests_, you see." He let Grell go and chuckled again, this time a little more roguishly, tapping his nail under Grell's chin playfully now.

_Crafty son of a bitch! There's something you're not telling me, _Grell thought with annoyance. Yet, he kept playing along even though Undertaker's sudden mood change had rather freaked him out. He wasn't about to give up on this new game and let Undertaker win that easily, not a chance. Grell leaned down to purr next to man's multi-pierced ear.

"There is definitely _nothing_ simple about you, darling, you are a wonderful composer of the dead after all. I had no idea you still possessed such animal impulses," Grell praised, making sure his lips brushed the fine hairs on Undertaker's ear. "I am sorry for suggesting the newt, what was I thinking."

Grell backed off, leaving Undertaker to giggle and rub at the tickles he'd left on his ear. "Let us have that tea, handsome—give me some sugar baby. Yes please!"

Of course, Undertaker was hiding something...

What he wasn't telling Grell was that the tea came to him one day in a coffin with a corpse in it. Hrmph, the tea was fine. However, the poor soul inside the box was not so lucky. The tea was a gift for Undertaker's services. Sometimes people slipped things into the coffins in gratitude and sometimes, he just 'borrowed' things.

"Well then, after you, my lady." Undertaker tipped his hat congenially as he gave a bright smile and let Grell enter his parlor first. He followed behind, closing the door quietly behind him. Oh, how amusing this would be indeed.

The dreary funeral parlor was the same as always and it took a moment for Grell's eyes to adjust to the darkness. When it did, Grell took in the all the funeral paraphernalia, the coffins, first off, were everywhere. On the floor, up against the walls, other rooms leading to _more_ coffins piled up on top of each other. On the walls hung a few garlic bulbs along with eerie, framed photographs of deceased people, their plastic faces staring out at him like strange, lifeless dolls. Such an odd practice of this time, Grell thought with a grimace. In one corner, he saw a collection of shovels, one of them still caked with dry earth. There was a skull resting on top of one small table and bookshelves filled with dusty books and jars. The place could sure use some colour, but it was clean and it did not smell as bad as Grell would have thought.

Perhaps the retired reaper was truly great at his job.

Undertaker was silently watching Grell as he looked around his business and his home. He knew this wasn't the kind of place that tickled the redhead pink, but Grell was no newcomer in terms of dealing with the dead. Heck, for a while, Grell had given him so much business back during those Jack the Ripper days. Such a shady blessing, Undertaker revelled in the gory work provided, making all those mangled whores beautiful again. And all the wonderful things he collected. _He-he._ It was a treasure trove.

"Give me a moment, while I fetch your tea." Undertaker told him. "By all means look around, but you know the policy, don't touch unless I tell you to."

Grell ignored the order with a feeble wave of his hand and looked down at a dead body lying in a coffin nearby. "What did he die from?" he asked curiously.

"A strangling," Undertaker answered nonchalantly, pausing and turning back. "Not many mangled parts to see on that one." He explained as if that were a disappointment. "It was an unfortunate accident, a terrible choice of attire shall we say."

"Attire…?"

"His darling wife had made him a fetching scarf for his birthday. When he was out walking the wind picked up, a gust that sent the tail of his newly received gift into the spokes and axel of a carriage passing by." Undertaker waved one sleeve with a 'what can you do' kind of gesture. "The carriage dragged his body for three miles, the man couldn't scream, you see, as he was being strangled."

Grell could only think of the man's wife as she cried her eyes out, blaming herself for killing her husband. "Oh, that poor woman, all alone with all those accusing eyes directed at her, it's sooo depressing," he moaned.

Undertaker said nothing and left to get the tea. Besides, his tummy was grumbling, as it was way past his breakfast now after all the chitchat. He hurried off.

Grell, left alone in the parlor, was beginning to feel bored again. Coffins were not that exciting, but the stories Undertaker told about the dead were always fun. Grell especially enjoyed the plotted deaths of jealous lovers' kinds of tales, especially if the lovers were notable people and a great scandal was involved.

He glanced down again at the man in the coffin and stifled a yawn.

With a quiet sigh, Grell wandering through the shop, removing a glove and smoothing his hand over the velvety surface inside one of the coffins he passed, but something sharp inside cut his finger. Scowling, Grell inspected his bleeding finger and stuck it into his mouth. Damn, that smart. He peeked into the box and found it surprisingly full of dried up roses, tons of them, nearly black with age, having lost all their vibrant red colour.

To Grell it seemed like a horrible case of neglect on such beautiful, once red, flowers.

How sad, Grell thought and wondered what Undertaker was doing with them. Then he spotted something wedged against the side of the coffin, a black, leather-bound journal. What caught Grell's attention was a long, braided red string, bookmarking a section of the curious little book. Peaking over his shoulder, Grell made sure Undertaker was not around before he opened it.

_November 13, 1889._

_Imagine I have brought home yet another dozen roses for my collection. Perhaps, I am touched. How lovely their fragrance, how deep the red of their petals—reminds me of a sacrifice as they rot. Murder. A reaping. A bleeding heart. It is all the same. They have all turned as black as the nigh. This won't do. Happenings haven't been this dismal since the Great Pestilence, and _that_ was a time to remember. Death was more rampant then than this era of London could ever be. He-he._

_February 19, 1890._

_Another twelve for that rotten coffin, aye it is rotten and yet has the most comfortable interior, a masterpiece really. Any such soul should be so lucky to feel it upon their living or no-longer living skin, but I digress. I have no nerve… what is this fear? Something that crawls under your bed, slithering—festering remains. It hides in the shadows of the psyche and it rattles the bolts in the furniture of a ghostly house by souls as restless as mine. It worries me. What kind of legend am I?_

_Geez, I really hope no one reads this journal ho-ho…_

_**BANG!**_

The clatter came from the pantry.

Grell yelped with fright, startled for the second time today.

"Oops!" Undertaker chimed from the other room. "…just dropped a bottle of mace! Smells like a cookie factory in here. He-he. No fuss. No fuss."

'No fuss' he says, Grell moaned as if pained, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. The journal, which seemed like nothing more than ramblings of Undertaker's questionable sanity, had flown out of his hands at the sudden racket. He would not have been so spooked had he not been prying. No, it wouldn't be wise to get caught with it so Grell hastily picked up the journal and stuffed it back into the coffin before the madman returned.

He ought to be a little more careful, lest he wished to provoke Undertaker's darker side. There was no saying what might trigger it.

Holding a gloved hand to his frightened heart, Grell entered another area further in the back. Away from the main showroom reserved for potential customers, floorboards creaking under his boots. This room looked like a preparation area. There was a long examination table here, a basin of water, make-up cases and tools rolled up in leather kits… he knew all about _these_ kinds of tools from his Ripper days. He unrolled one of the black leather kits to find an impressive variety of scalpels, knives and even a small saw. However, his eye caught one particular instrument that made Grell purse his lips and stitch his brows in wonder. Puzzled, he picked it up.

"Ah, you found the nutcracker," Undertaker said merrily from the doorway, holding a tray with two cups of tea, the teapot and an urn full of shortbread cookies. "I was looking all over the place for that."

Grell gawked at the silver-haired reaper. "Why would you leave a nutcracker in here, exactly?"

"I get hungry when I'm working sometimes and nuts are delicious, especially walnuts… the way they crack so nicely under your teeth at first and then turn all soft and—"

"_Ugh!"_ Grell pleaded, his face turning a mild shade of green, "Don't say another word."

"Kukuku," Undertaker sounded playfully. "I wouldn't have taken you to have such a weak stomach, Grell Sutcliff, considering your profession and some of your _own_ little hobbies." Undertaker moved to set the tray down on the examination table, where who knows how many mutilated bodies rested upon its surface.

The red reaper was eyeballing the tea tray precariously. He sighed. "Well, there's just some things… you know," Grell muttered, waving his hands as if he were pushing something revolting out of the way. "Just shut up about what you put in your damn mouth!"

Undertaker smirked as he prepared the tea. "Milk and honey…?"

"Lots of honey for me, _honey,_" Grell replied impishly, placing the nutcracker down on the table, eager to forget all about Undertaker's weird habits.

A moment later Undertaker handed Grell his tea, served inside a glass laboratory beaker. Grell didn't want to think about what he was drinking his tea from, he just wanted something warm and soothing after a hard nights' work. He sipped the tea and found it wonderfully hot and very, very sweet. Just how he liked most things, sweet like the caress of a lover's hand or the hot slip of the tongue (when you're with the right person, of course).

Grell looked up with surprise. "The tea is perfect!"

"One can never have enough honey, he-he," Undertaker agreed and offered cookies politely as he took a seat on top of a closed coffin. He held out the urn. "I took the liberty of getting some biscuits you might approve of in the happenstance that you would visit me again… at least, I believe you should approve since you always look funny when I offer my usual fare."

Grell was about to reprove about the 'always look funny' comment when he noticed the cookies inside the urn that Undertaker spoke of. "Oh, they're heart-shaped!" He said with complete surprise, taken aback for a moment. "How adorable," he said. He never thought Undertaker could be so thoughtful.

"It grieves me that they don't actually resemble anything like a real human heart, but the baker who made them didn't seem impressed when I asked him for shortbread shaped like the organ itself." Undertaker twittered as he recalled the look on the baker's face. My, my humans could be so touchy.

"Well, let's not get picky, shall we?" Grell advised, utterly thrilled to have cookies made for him especially. No one had gone out of his or her way to please him like this before and the gesture really had him wondering if Undertaker viewed him as a friend. The thought mildly alarmed Grell and at the same time gave him a warm fuzzy feeling.

He did not have many true friends…

Grell sat down on a coffin across from Undertaker, reached out, and took one of the heart cookies. "Hmm…maybe two," he muttered and then snapped, "…don't judge me!"

Undertaker was merely smiling his wicked smiles as Grell devoured the cookies (who snatched up two more, he-he). He enjoyed how Grell broke the hearts in half before he ate them. Undertaker nibbled on his own biscuits and washed it down with overly sweet tea. The red head was right. The tea was exceptionally good this morning.

Once both had their fill of cookies and tea, Undertaker decided it was time to move this game along.

"How about we stop toying around, Grell, my dear." The old reaper began conspicuously, his long black nails tinkling off the teacup eerily. His demeanor seemed more reserved. "What is the reason for your visit this time?"

Suddenly Grell looked devilishly smug, flipping his hair out and squealing with the excitement he could no longer contain. He flung himself at Undertaker's feet, sending his empty teacup flying into a nearby coffin, placing his head on the man's knees cooing all the while. He cuddled against Undertaker's lower limbs like a loving pet, arms wrapped around long, dusty robes and the sexy, buckled boots that the man wore.

"You know what I want, handsome," Grell said with a naughty chuckle, sporting his shark-like teeth with a manic grin.

The Undertaker was in all sense of the word, tickled.

"Come on, let me have it. Please, please, please, pretty please." Grell went for the begging tactic. "I think you owe me after the way you frightened me earlier, with your forceful grabbing and likely leering at me behind that curtain of hair, like a marauder wishing to shred off my clothes and ravage my beautiful body." Grell moaned like a wounded widow, and swooned as if near faint by the experience. "And then you didn't even do that and it wasn't very nice of you either..."

He sighed dramatically.

"I've been pleasant and lady like, right? I haven't attacked you or tried to bury you in salt again—_which I could have,_ _you know_," Grell offered darkly, his voice sinister. However, he quickly returned to his pleading again. "But I didn't, because you're a legend and William would kill me if I did that and I don't want to be demoted to scissors again." He batted his long lashes in the same manner he would for that gorgeous demon butler.

"Oh? Is that quite all?" Undertaker questioned with mock astonishment, as if Grell should perhaps continue begging.

This infuriated the red reaper and he snarled viciously. "You're such a meanie, a real brute! I pour out my soul and that's all you have to say. _Oh! I hate you!_"

One look at Grell's indignant, bratty expression, as one might see on an ill-behaved child and Undertaker could no longer contain it. He exploded with wails of laughter, loud, crazy fits, shaking all the wall hangings in the parlor, bottles rattling on the shelves. In the other room, a bottle full of purple liquid smashed to the floor.

Even the Scarf-Strangled corpse bolted straight up in shock.

"Why are you laughing, you old fool!" Grell cried with a pout. "Stop it or I _will_ thrash you within an inch of your life. William be damned!"

That only made the legendary reaper laugh harder, so hard that tears ran down his cheeks and drool dribbled down the side of his mouth. "Your f-face… Waaa-ha-ha-ha! Please n-no more." He begged as if someone was tickling him to death. "W-wait… don't stop, I can almost s-see the w-white light."

Long, pale fingers outstretched, Undertaker reached for something only his mind's eye could see.

After a few glorious moments of unearthly pleasure, Undertaker tried to regain some control. He stood up, panting for air, clinging to the nearest shelf for support lest he fell into a giggling heap on the floor. Once Undertaker's world stopped spinning with glee, he glanced down at Grell and said breathily.

"It's the fourth time in two months…"

"But it's so beautiful. I'll do whatever you want, just name your price." Grell offered and let go of Undertaker's legs. He shuffled up to his feet again, still hoping the man would relent. It was such a simple request.

There was an irrefutable blush on the crests of Undertaker's pale cheeks, such flattery. Grell was always coming to him for _that_. However, he was being respectful about it and, in light, making a fine game out of it. And today was especially entertaining, Undertaker was eternally grateful for the laughter. Perhaps Grell was slowly learning that good things come to those who wait, it seems.

Most of the time Undertaker gave Grell what he wanted, without much fuss, and the man left with a grin on his face. However, he had to admit, he was really beginning to enjoy Grell's visits and a part of him did not want to end their fun to end so soon, like usual.

Undertaker came up with a sneaky idea.

"You know I forbid payment by the use of the Queen's coins, so surely you didn't mean that _'price'_ literally." Undertaker tsk'd under his breath disdainfully. Then he tried to reason. "You can have what you want, but maybe a bit later? I truly have a lot of work today and I have already dilly-dallied longer than I should have." He unexpectedly laughed. "Dilly-dally, isn't that such a great word?"

Grell stuck his tongue out at the Undertaker.

Oh right, Undertaker got back to his point. "As much as I love this game, Grell, my latest guest is attending his grandest party tomorrow. I _must_ get to my work, you see."

Undertaker really loved being an undertaker and his respect for the dead was immeasurable, even if not everyone saw it that way.

"Then let me help you," Grell blurted and blinked in temporary confusion behind his red-trimmed glasses. As he thought about the paperwork waiting for him back at the office, the idea of hanging out with Undertaker for the day seemed like a carriage ride in the park, right._ Right…?_ Besides, it would seem as though Undertaker wasn't willing to give it up so easily this time. Which meant Grell was left chasing for it—something he simply loved to do anyways, because the chase was all part of the fun!

_Isn't that right, Sebas-chan? _Grell thought wickedly.

"A perfect compromise, Under-darling, let me assist your troubled hot self for today and then I get what my burning heart desires." Grell was hugging himself again as his mind filled with the pleasure to come.

Undertaker's all-business expression turned into a smarmy grin. "You, my dear, have yourself a deal." He-he-he!

Grell clapped his gloved hands in victory. "Then let's get this show started while I'm all hot and my juices are still flowing."

The old reaper didn't need telling twice. "Well then, I'll get some shovels," Undertaker replied cheerfully and shuffled off to the other room. "I hope you don't mind a little dirty work, this might not be the best kind of work for a lady, after all."

"Don't judge the strength of this beauty, you old dog," Grell reprimanded, thrusting a thumb into his own chest. "My ability might surprise you."

Undertaker's devious chuckles filled the parlor.

* * *

><p>It was a bumpy ride as Grell sat next to Undertaker who steered the mule and buggy through the misty streets of London. They headed to the cemetery to make final arrangements for The Scarf- Strangled victim waiting for his final resting place tomorrow. The rows of buildings and the busy streets milling with people, all headed to the morning markets and their appointed business, thinned out as the countryside appeared before them. The well-worn trail was weather beaten and full of potholes after the winter thaw, making the tea that Grell drank jostle precariously in his lower abdomen.<p>

"I have to pee…" Grell bemoaned. "Stop driving into the ruts."

Undertaker sighed and directed his face at the fellow reaper. "We're almost there and then you'll find plenty of reliable bushes."

Grell gasped. "You expect me to desecrate the dead by peeing in their bushes?!"

"He-he, I'm sure they won't mind."

"But a lady does not 'go' standing like you lot. Please do not make me spell it out for you, you bounder!" The carriage rattled over another large bump, making Grell whimper this time.

"You did that one on purpose!" Grell roared.

"I did nothing of the sort," Undertaker assured kindly, failing miserably at hiding the smirk on his face, which was making Grell glare at him harder. "Pretend we are some place hot and dry, like a desert," he suggested. "Sometimes that does the trick."

Grell crossed his legs and imagined they were riding through a barren desert, the sun overhead cooking their flesh, the air arid and hot, searing his lungs with each breath. Then he imagined he was parched, his tongue like sandpaper as they searched hopelessly for water.

Drat! Grell thought of water and he growled, "It isn't working!"

Undertaker was out of suggestions.

Thankfully, the cemetery came into view. It was a well-maintained place, grass as green as Grell had ever seen, the silence here was palpable, not a single sign of life around, except a gaggle of crows occupying an old, gnarly oak tree.

"Oh look, a murder," Undertaker murmured with interest, looking at the crows.

Grell spun his eyes on the old reaper, "What, where…?"

"That's what you call a flock of crows," Undertaker informed.

"How lovely…" Grell drawled sarcastically. "Well, I assure you there is going to be a murder _right here_ if I don't use the ladies room, _right now!_"

Yikes! "No need to get all noisy as a church-bell, now. I'll take you to the groundskeepers house. We need to inform him that we'll be preparing a grave for our guest tomorrow anyways."

Grell just crossed his arms and sniffed.

The groundskeeper's huge house turned out to be creepier than Undertaker's was. It was darker, more disturbing and there was a stench in here that made Grell cover his nose. There was also a strange scratching sound coming from the larder, but there was nothing in all the realms that could stop Grell from using the facilities. Bushes were for the unrefined type and he would not tarnish his reputation because his bladder was about to burst.

He even managed to beat his personal record for how long it took to use the washroom, which was 'ridiculous' according to William. It often led the Head Shinigami asking, 'Do I even want to know what you do in there for so long?' Seriously, men had no idea.

Undertaker watched as Grell came barreling out of the house as if Sebastian was out here waiting for a wet kiss. He rushed to the silver-haired reaper's side quickly.

"There's something not right about that groundkeeper's house," Grell hissed at the fellow reaper, who had been waiting for him with two shovels under his hand at the gate. The redhead turned and saw the nefarious groundskeeper sitting on his porch whittling a piece of wood. His beady eyes seemed focused on them.

"You seem a bit frightened, my dear?" Undertaker said and curiously wondered what secrets lay in the groundkeeper's house. Probably just rats...

"Me—_frightened?_" Grell laughed as if that was utterly ridiculous and waved his hand. "Nobody messes with Grell Sutcliff. I'm not afraid of anything or anyone."

"You can hit the boogeyman with this. He-he." Undertaker handed him a shovel.

"Oh you're just _so_ droll." Grell said, full of sarcasm.

Undertaker twittered as he turned towards the graveyard. He tried to remember which direction to go and walked off, shovel in hand. Grell ran after him and they headed for a spot over a grassy knoll. As they passed the old oak tree, all the crows leapt off into the air, cawing over the disturbance.

"Why isn't that old creep digging this hole?" Grell wondered, thumbing back in the direction of the burly groundskeeper.

"I do not trust anyone but I to procure a peaceful resting place for my guests, often these pesky groundskeepers take short cuts, burying people on top old graves due to the lack of space. The things you see, my dear. However, I really cannot blame them sometimes." Undertaker informed. "Everyone is just _dying_ to get in here, you see." He laughed at his own joke.

Grell narrowed his eyes. He wasn't impressed.

Undertaker sighed at Grell's lack of response. "Death deserves a little respect, I do what I can because these humans entertain me so," the mortician explained.

The red reaper glanced over at Undertaker derisively. "You… respect?" He could not believe it. "You seem to have way too much fun playing the role of undertaker, Undertaker. Why, I bet you pinched a few body parts for whatever wild game you play, if you didn't, then how did you know all the details about those prostitutes and the manner of their deaths? You knew exactly what parts were missing and how they were removed from them. I have always wondered about that."

Undertaker gave a dark chortle. "I see that you are a clever one, more so than you present yourself, Grell Sutcliff. How enchanting. Careful what doors you choose to open, my dear," he warned. "You might just find it slamming closed on your pretty little fingers."

"Then that makes you a scoundrel." Grell knew it all along, unaffected by the threat.

Undertaker waved a long sleeve dismissively. "No less a scoundrel than yourself, Jack. I'm just a curious reaper that wishes to know what makes the clock tick. Haven't you ever wondered about it, instead of slashing it all to bits? Humans are fascinating and beautiful, yet, they are ugly, horrible creatures also. Don't you agree?"

"Hmm… they do have their purpose, I guess," Grell granted. "Without them we'd be out of work."

Undertaker simply smiled.

The strength of a reaper is not like the strength of a mortal and digging a hole with a shovel was merely a bothersome job, which was not that exerting. Still, Grell felt wretched and dirty as he shovelled heap after heap of earth out of the grave he stood in without his beloved red coat on, which was slung over a nearby grave marker (no way was he getting it all soiled).

Grell was all fired up! He was working like a steam engine on the fresh grave. It started after Undertaker claimed, 'I fear underestimating you could cause me a lot of trouble one day', which started an entire new conversation between the reapers, ending with Grell needing to prove himself. Undertaker teased about how Grell would never be as strong a reaper as he was.

"I'll show you, you old fiend…" The red reaper was grumbling to himself under his breath.

Undertaker glanced over from a gravestone he had his rear perched against as he twirled a fuzzy dandelion between his fingers, causing the little bracts to float off on the breeze. "Hmm, did you say something, Grell?" he questioned calmly, apparently more interested in the dandelion than working on the grave.

Why that two-timing con artist, Grell narrowed his eyes and launched a shovel full of gravel straight for Undertaker's silly, tailed hat.

The silver-haired reaper moved gracefully to the side as if he had impeccable timing, narrowly missing a pummelling of dirt. However, he was very aware. Oh yes, he was.

With a low growl, Grell tried again. And again. _And again…_

If one were to witness the spectacle, it would seem as if Undertaker was doing a joyful dance around the freshly dug grave, performing a strange seance of some sorts.

Grell was too stubborn and angry to give it up.

The game continued until Undertaker suddenly sneezed loudly from all the fine dust in the air, causing Grell to shriek with surprise. He glowered at Undertaker for his obnoxious, ear-shattering sneeze, only to find himself face to face with the blade of Undertaker's Death Scythe. The wide, curved blade with a partial skeleton decorating the top of the long staff, was staring Grell directly in the face, looming before his nose like a dangerous threat.

"What do you think you're up to, ex-reaper?" He spat. "If you're looking for a fight darling, then you have found your brave champion—I'll show _you_ domestic violence!" Grell remarked haughtily, ready to release his own Death Scythe in a heartbeat should need be. His eyes narrowed to the tip of his nose, which was… strangely ticklish.

"Argh! Your stupid scythe shred a few strands of my beautiful hair!" He wailed and he blew them off furiously.

Undertaker withdrew his Death Scythe and it disappeared quickly from sight. He found the entire thing quite hilarious and giggled into his sleeves. "He-he. My apologies, I didn't do that on purpose. It… it's just a reaction whenever I sneeze."

Grell sniffed at Undertaker's comment dubiously.

The mortician was tapping a long fingernail to his bottom lip now in consideration. "I don't really understand it myself, because it doesn't always happen. I have no intention of fighting, my dear. Although that could be entertaining, we should have a good row sometime, but… we still have a lot of work to do today. Right now, that's not the sort of fun I fancy."

At this very moment, Grell imagined nothing else could be more _'fun'_.

"So, your Death Scythe appears when you sneeze?" Grell charged incredulously. "That's the dumbest thing I ever heard!"

"I said it doesn't happen all the time, just when I have a really good one." The red reaper was glaring at him again. "Hmm, perhaps you've done enough digging," Undertaker remarked softly, sensing Grell's tetchiness. He glanced down into the grave inquisitively. "Oh, it's almost six feet. Let me have a go at it."

"My pleasure," Grell said dryly and gladly traded places with the mad mortician.

Oddly, Undertaker seemed to enjoy the process of digging graves as his disturbing little chuckles echoed from within as he worked. His pace was cool and unruffled as he unearthed the earth like he had all the patience in the world.

Grell peered down at the silver-haired troublemaker and taunted wickedly, "Try not to flay yourself if you sneeze again… that'd be a horrible shame."

* * *

><p>Back at the funeral parlor, Undertaker fiddled in the pantry humming an old tune, as Grell excused himself to wash up a little. He claimed that digging out a grave was ludicrous work and he was sure he had gravel in his hair and dirt under his nails. No, Grell had definitely not come prepared, or dressed, for hard labour.<p>

Undertaker was over the moon to be tending to his live guest, making him feel at home and being attentive to his needs, like a good host should. When Grell had asked him for some soap and a hairbrush, he was all too happy to provide. Name the substance or solution, the beauty accessory, what have you and he probably had it stored somewhere. This was a funeral parlor after all. Undertaker had even offered to brush the reaper's red hair, such pretty hair it was, because he was great at fixing hair with all the practice he's had, but Grell had only snapped at him that he wasn't 'dead yet'.

It made Undertaker smile.

Lucky for him, Grell wasn't dead or he wouldn't be having such a pleasant day. When you exist this long, it becomes difficult to find ways to amuse ones' self. The young reaper was a lively one, that's for sure and it kept things interesting. Conversing with the dead was entertaining and all that, but nothing quite beat having real company to talk with. And Undertaker would be lying if he said Grell's sort of company was full of pomp and misrepresentation, like many of the acquaintances he met up with. But that, once again, is another story.

No, Grell's company was refreshing, uncensored and he partook in an enthusiastic dose of bantering, Undertaker greatly approved of this.

"I had no idea you were capable of more than cookies and tea, dear Undertaker." Grell mused playfully when he returned, all fresh and collected once more and took a seat where they drank their tea earlier. He was looking over the spread of cheese, bread, jam and crackers and two thick wedges of chocolate cake. His mouth watered after he had worked up such a hearty appetite with all that grave digging.

"Part of the fun about digging graves, you see, is that you get to come home and eat cake," Undertaker shared as if this were the ultimate key to his happiness. He giggled as Grell stole a taste of chocolate frosting. "Anyways, you should know better than anyone it is foolish to judge a book by the cover. Wouldn't you say, my dear?"

"Which is why I say you're a rotten scoundrel," Grell claimed once more, flashing Undertaker a knowing grin. "You're one of those manipulators with a separate agenda. You cannot fool me, darling. I know _all about_ separate agendas. Ha-ha."

_Is that so? Cheeky lad, aye… very cheeky,_ Undertaker thought wryly. He remained silent and handed the redhead a beaker full of a mysterious dark liquid. Grell took it and eyed it suspiciously.

However, Grell wasn't finished with his verbal observation yet and added, "You deceive us with this ruse, because underneath…" The red reaper began to fan himself with his hand as if the room grew hot. "You'd have all the ladies and gents eating from your palm like obedient dogs."

"Who says I doesn't already?" countered Undertaker mischievously. He thought to himself, _and you're one of them. He-he._

This retort pleased and surprised Grell to the bone. It was something he could hear himself saying, which made Grell squeal in delight. "Oh darling, you're pulling my leg. Is there another reason William calls you a 'legend'?" Grell winked suggestively. "What else aren't you sharing, come now, spill everything. I have to know!"

"A gentleman never shares all of his secrets, that wouldn't be much fun, now would it? It's awful karma, you know." Undertaker explained, eager to steer the topic away from him. "Some other time I may share a few stories with you, seeing as you compensate me for the information, that is."

Grell was utterly enthralled with the idea of finding out some of Undertaker's dirty little secrets. Hmm, maybe he had judged Undertaker the wrong way. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as he led on and that was all a ruse, too.

The redhead replied audaciously. "Whatever you want, handsome—I wouldn't miss that show for the world. Karma can kiss my ass."

"Oh my! Hee-hee! _Ha-ha!"_

After their silly conversation, they ate their hard-earned lunch quietly. Grell was stuffing the last forkful of the scrummy cake into his mouth, sighing in ecstasy and murmuring how Undertaker was trying to make him fat.

"Why haven't you tasted your drink yet?" Undertaker wondered ruefully. "It's elderberry cordial, which is very sweet and delicious. I thought you'd like it… unless, you still think I've poisoned your drink with witchcraft again." The careful look Grell gave him made him snicker.

"Here…" The silver-haired reaper reached over, took Grell's glass, and sipped from it. "Mmm, see…? It's not poisoned."

Undertaker handed the glass back and was tempted to start faking his death just then. _I really shouldn't though, then the game will be over—kukuku—that, or Grell will knock my bleedin' lights out!_

Grell stared at his drink for a moment before taking a sip. The sweet, bitter taste of some wonderful fruit touched his tongue. "You're right, it's delicious. Even if you probably backwashed into it." He sounded amazed that Undertaker could possibly have such good taste.

Undertaker seemed at a loss.

Straightening his glasses, Grell narrowed his yellowish-green eyes at the crafty Undertaker. "Are you trying to get me drunk you dirty bird?"

Undertaker waggled a long finger adorned with a big green ring at Grell. "My, my, let's not get carried away now, there is still much we have to do."

Grell sighed.

* * *

><p>Undertaker was sure to put Grell back to work. It was almost as if he invented things for the red reaper to do because he could. First, Grell helped the mortician organize and dust an entire shelf filled with strange books and odd bottles of weird stuff inside. When Grell peered closer into one of these bottles, something squirmed around inside it. He gave a shrill cry of terror much to Undertaker's amusement.<p>

"Ack! What is it?!" Grell took a leap back.

"They're just leeches, my dear. Such interesting little creatures that feed on the poisons..."

Grell shuddered.

Next, Undertaker had him move a few coffins, but then he didn't like the arrangement and had Grell move them to another spot.

"Have to make space for new guests. Dying is such a demanding business, he-he."

Then there was a trip to see the carpenter, who made all these coffins that Undertaker ordered, some complete with comfortable linings and many bare pine for those that couldn't afford luxurious funerals. With that task accomplished, Grell had to do _more_ heavy lifting. Delivering two of the damned things to a church, the other two came back to the funeral parlor.

"Gotta have a good selection, ya know." Undertaker said much too cheerfully.

Grell grumbled under his breath.

The last of the business that required leaving the parlor was for Undertaker to tie up all lose ends with the chapel that would host the funeral, the people hired to accompany the procession, the decoration that would dress the coffin, and lastly the mourning cards that had been printed and would be sent out after tomorrow.

"Seems like that Scarf Guy had some serious money," Grell remarked, realizing a lot of grandeur was going into this one man's funeral. Geez, what a drag…

"A prominent member of society, shall we say. He owned a league of factories that produced engines for steam ships, big business these days." Undertaker replied as they walked back to his parlor, the sky overhead clearer now as the sun began to move to the western horizon, casting a pink-orange hue in the clouds. "Not a dime spared for his final gathering. Most don't even get a blessing, a final word for their lost and troubled souls. I's just bury them straightaway in a cheap wooden box."

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," Grell commented with a tired sigh. "It all seems like a waste of time."

"Time we have plenty of… they, however—don't." Undertaker scoffed quietly, he didn't share Grell's apathy for mortal death. "Either way, no matter how they pay… I always clean 'em all up nice and pretty. Tee-hee."

"And that's what we're going to do next, huh?" Grell was starting to get used to Undertaker's ways of torment.

"Don't tell me you're tired now? Our guest still needs us to dress him up, make him all spiffy and such," Undertaker said. His tone suggested this was the best part of his day.

Grell gave a heavy theatrical sigh. "He's _your_ guest, not mine."

Undertaker gave Grell a concerned look, "All that eager stamina gone already?"

When Undertaker phrased it like that, Grell scowled. "This isn't the sort of vigorous exercise I would call stimulating."

Undertaker assured with a shifty grin. "After we prepare the corpse, I'll let you have what you came here for. Today you have paid me ten times over, my dear. Next time, I'll even throw in a tale or two, no fee. I won't even put you to work."

This information perked up Grell's ears like an excited cocker spaniel. If he had a real tail to wag, he would have impatiently. "Then there is no time to waste!" he clamoured, threading his arm around Undertaker's elbow like a doting lady-in-waiting. "Darling, you are much too sly. _Our_ _guest_ requires our immediate attention and here you are carousing down the street with the fairest of maidens on your arm like a rooster, such bravado."

Undertaker could not resist. He crowed just like a rooster.

Flattered, Grell blushed.

* * *

><p>The Scarf-Strangled man, who's real name was Thomas Brown, lay peacefully dead as two shinigami peered over his coffin. One of them seemed indifferent, and the other… was studying him with kind curiosity.<p>

"By now I thought he'd be reeking," Grell said, poking a finger idly into the dead man's chest.

"There is no reason for there to be an unpleasant odour since I have already drained him of blood and fluids and embalmed him. He'll stay fresh for a few days—give or take." Undertaker explained easily and held up a dark suit complete with a cravat, grey waistcoat and slacks from a hanger. "The family dropped this off yesterday. What do you think, my dear?"

"Oh, he's going to be simply dashing." Grell commented agreeably, reaching over to feel the fine fabric that would accompany Thomas to his final resting place. "Sooo, we don't get to cut him up at all? Not even a _teensy_ bit."

"Oh no, not this one," the mortician replied gravely. "His kin demanded to be present during the embalming which didn't give me much playtime… err, privacy, you see." Undertaker giggled at his slip up. "I wouldn't want to cause a stir."

"A shame… did they not trust you?" The redhead appeared slightly puzzled as he set his eyes on the Undertaker who fished a comb from inside his sleeve and began to tidy Thomas's hair, propping the body up so he could do a thorough job all around. From what Grell could see, Undertaker really loved dotting on his 'guests' giving them a great deal of special attention.

Undertaker did not look up from his work. "Trust is reserved for fools, my dear. I was surprised they wanted to stay to make sure I did my job properly—tis their choice all the same. You do get these odd requests occasionally. I believe they called me 'strange' and what was that other word…" He drew a long nail over Thomas's cheek ever so gently, cradling his head almost affectionately as he thought about it. "Oh yes, 'shuddersome', _he-he_, can't say I've heard that phrase before." The retired reaper merely chuckled though. Seeing the disturbed looks on those fine folks' faces, while he emptied Thomas fluids, gave him a mind-blowing laugh.

Of course, he waited until they left his shop.

"But they would be wrong in their accusations," Grell said with an odd amount of irritation.

"Oooh…? Has a day with the neighbourhood undertaker changed your mind?" This time the old reaper did look up from his work. "Am I still a scoundrel then?"

"You're definitely a scoundrel, handsome." Grell confirmed. "But you're alright, I suppose. I understand how it feels to get into your work. I guess I'm a little disappointed that we don't get to see even a tiny flesh wound."

This made Undertaker dreadfully happy. "Then you'll have to visit me again, my dear, sorry to disappoint you. However, I have always thought you were alright, too—a little crazy, perhaps, but I like that," he admitted genuinely.

_"What…!"_ Grell's gentle gaze snapped into a jaw-dropping gasp. "Look who's calling who crazy!"

Undertaker was taken aback by the outburst. "Calm down, little miss and let me try to rephrase that," he suggested with an anxious twitter as he set Thomas back down gently into his coffin. The silver-haired reaper held his hands out in front of him as he spoke. "What if I said, you are one of the prettiest reapers in all the realms – crazy as a bell siren mind you – that my eyes ever did see?"

Grell was not sure if Undertaker was being genuine or simply messing with his head again. "You're just saying that now since I'm cross with you. It's too late to take it back." He sat back and crossed his arms in a huff.

Undertaker decided to take a more honest approach. "Crazy—I imagine, is the title you would grant a person that, given the opportunity, would slit your throat for their own enjoyment." Undertaker made a cutting motion across his own throat that was already marked with an old scar as if someone had already tried. "Maybe you are waiting for the ideal moment. So I can't figure it out, are you a friend or foe, hmm?"

Curiosity was getting the best of Undertaker.

_"Reeaally…?"_ Grell crooned, eyes glazing over with awe. "You think I may turn on you and paint the walls red with your blood? That's…. that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me!"

From across the opened coffin Grell latched onto Undertaker in glee, giving him the biggest squeeze while Thomas waited patiently below, ever so patiently.

Undertaker chuffed quietly as his hat was knocked to the floor, his nose catching the scent of Grell's pretty hair as the red reaper tried to deprive him of oxygen with a crushing hug. "Don't get too excited, my dear," he wheezed. "Drawing my blood is no easy task. Hee-hee."

The red reaper was still cooing dreamily. "Boy, you sure know how to flatter a girl."

Undertaker just simpered.

Grell returned to his seat, watching Undertaker fix his silly hat back to the top of his head. He said, "Listen, if I wanted your blood I would have attempted to spill it already." Grell flashed the old reaper his diabolical grin. "But I've turned a new leaf, darling, and decided to stick to reaping souls like a good little reaper should. You were the one that gives _me_ the creeps, always thought you wanted to place my parts into those nasty jars of yours… until now."

"I'd much rather keep your parts just where they are," Undertaker said with a grin.

It never occurred to the red reaper that the lunatic was wary and mistrustful of _him. _No matter how often he came to visit Undertaker or how much they joked around there was still that little nuance of distrust between them. Then again, trust was 'for fools', was that not what Undertaker said a moment ago. So was Undertaker challenging him? Was he calling him naïve?! Grr.

"Why are we even having this conversation, Undertaker?" Grell demanded. "What does it matter to you, anyways?"

The silver-haired reaper tilted his head as if perplexed. "What conversation… you've already answered my question, my dear."

_"I have…?"_ The red reaper said sounding a little confused. Grell blew out a frustrated breath. "What the hell are you playing at now?"

Undertaker held one black talon to his lips. "It's a secret."

Grell wanted to throttle the mortician so badly. "You know what – _fine_ – keep your stupid secrets. I don't care." He really did care but Undertaker simply enjoyed torturing him and Grell would not give him the pleasure. "Let's just get Thomas ready for his party, shall we?"

Undertaker handed Grell the funeral suit.

* * *

><p>Fixing Thomas up for his funeral was kind of like putting clothes on a doll, except this doll was a lot bigger and he got some light cosmetics to make him look alive again. Grell found out it was quaint fun to brush make-up on someone else's face and Thomas wasn't awake to complain he'd done it wrong. Still, it wasn't wrong because Undertaker assured him it was perfect. Besides, Grell got the impression the mortician would make him do it again if he had done it wrong.<p>

Knowing he had gotten it right the first time made Grell feel deeply satisfied, much more satisfied than stupid paperwork.

Between Undertaker's content humming and the odd few shifty chuckles, he was extremely proficient about the entire ordeal. He explained things to Grell when he asked questions and, for once, Undertaker didn't laugh when he asked them. The younger reaper had to admit that Undertaker was well versed in the workings of the human body.

It was quite impressive.

The day wore on well into the evening and the shop became even darker, if that was even possible. Sometime during their work, Undertaker lit a few candles and turned on a couple of oil lamps. The mortician was very pleased how efficiently Grell assisted him. He would even overlook how Grell accidentally dropped the coffin lid on his fingers or how the red reaper somehow managed to glue Undertaker's middle finger and thumb together. Yeah… that took a while to un-stick. In all honesty, Undertaker was satisfied about the entire day. A lot of mundane work got done all thanks to that feisty reaper and his silly game.

Speaking of feisty reapers, Undertaker still needed to give Grell his sought after prize. To think Grell did all this work just so he could admire and stare into his eyes. He-he, Undertaker couldn't help but blush again. The fourth time in two months—indeed, Undertaker was awfully flattered. Grell was very amorous about his looks when he wasn't hiding behind his silver hair.

However, he realized the red reaper was being incredibly quiet at the moment. Much too quiet, though he shouldn't complain. It was definitely alarming and Undertaker looked over from his finished work to find the redhead fast asleep on top of the coffin he was sitting on.

Undertaker smiled softly. He hadn't even noticed that Grell had laid down, on his side, pulling his knees up like one might do on a park bench.

Aww, the fair lady was still wearing his glasses.

Moving around Thomas's coffin, Undertaker knelt next to Grell's sleeping form and gently removed the reaper's red glasses, slipping the chain out from under his head. Grell didn't stir, not even a little bit. All that work today must have tuckered him out. Undertaker knew Grell had come to visit him right after work and that meant he'd pulled a double shift, more or less. That kind of spunk was admirable, surely.

The chill in the air was nippy at this hour, London was a damp, bone-chilling place at times and tonight a few extra layers couldn't hurt. Undertaker removed his long, outer robe, his chain of treasures tinkling melodiously as he shifted around, draping the mantle over Grell's recumbent body.

Undertaker inspected the Reaper-issued specs ever so curiously. What might the world look like, since he had lost his glasses long, long ago? Undertaker considered this as he removed his hat. He ran his fingers through his bangs a few times, settling the hair away from his eyes and slipped on Grell's glasses.

The world instantly turned high definition.

It would seem as if he and Grell's prescriptions were nearly identical. Everything became visible, even things hiding in the shadows, the cracks in the floorboards, the spider web spun on a wall sconce on the other side of the room. Undertaker could even see the glint of candlelight flickering off the brass picture frame a fair distance away. He saw something else, as well.

"I see you there, William." Undertaker scowled. "Have you come to cause a stir?"

The supervising Shinigami, the one in charge of dispatch, William T. Spears, moved out of the shadows. He was a tall, thin man with jet-black hair, wearing a nicely tailored black business suit complete with a black tie, jacket and pants. His Death Scythe, which came in the form of a tree trimmer on a long pole, was used to adjust his glasses as he stared at Undertaker pointedly.

With an arched brow, William said. "You know it is a violation of the rules to remove a reaper's glasses when they are working, don't you?"

Just as Undertaker thought, dear William was here to ruin his fun. "I do believe Grell is not on the clock, so whatever violations do you speak of?"

William sighed. "I do apologize, sir, for this intrusion but I need to collect that feeble excuse of a reaper you have drooling all over your merchandise. He has failed to return to the shinigami realm and file his reports. As such, I am here to forcibly bring him in."

"Is that so?" Undertaker muttered, quite unhappy to hear this information. He stood up, giving Grell a quick glance before looking back at William while still wearing the red-framed glasses. "When's the last time you laughed?"

The question caught William off guard and so did Undertaker's eyes. He looked away and scoffed. "I… I'm not here to discuss myself. Don't try and change the subject. No matter who you are, or how persuasive you are with those eyes of yours, I still have to follow the rules."

"Psh! Rules..." Undertaker chided. "It was a direct question, William. To think you have forgotten how to laugh is very sad indeed."

William narrowed his eyes. "I laugh all the time, I'll have you know."

"Liar," Undertaker challenged.

William frowned and pushed his glasses up with his scythe again. "What is it that you want, Undertaker?"

A smile grew across Undertaker's face. "For you to leave Grell right where he is, that's all."

The dark-haired shinigami blinked. "Why? What are you planning on doing to him?"

"Oh… a little of this and a little of that," Undertaker mused. "I owe him a great deal for all the hard work he's done for me today, you see. And it would be terribly impolite for me to ebb on my promise."

This information confused William greatly. "Grell _worked_ with you today? Hardly, he's the laziest reaper in our division."

"Oh, but it is quite true," Undertaker pledged. "Let me keep him for tonight and I'll send him off to you in the morning ready to work twice as hard. I'll eat my hat if he doesn't."

William grunted. "Foolishness, not even you, a legend, can perform _that_ kind of miracle." But it could be pleasurable to see Undertaker eating his hat. William might actually laugh then.

"Then what would you have me do for this one request? Hmm…?" Undertaker wondered merrily.

Now this was interesting, William thought. "Alright, you can keep this pest for whatever insane reason I cannot fathom, if you help us out on an upcoming mission. There will be many souls to reap and, sadly, I am low on staff. Everyone is sick or on holidays and it all seems to be at the same time."

Undertaker chuckled. "It's always like that no matter what job you do," he said with a wave of his hand. "Alright, I will assist you. Now, will that be all?"

William nodded. "Yes, that is all." He directed his eyes at Grell who was scratching his butt while he slept. The supervisor rolled his eyes. "Goodnight, sir."

Lacing his fingers together with eyes all lit up and a huge smirk on his face, Undertaker spoke sweetly, "Goodnight, dear William."

He-he-he!


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

The moment William left the funeral parlor, Undertaker giggled deviously.

He had the pretty, red reaper all to himself…

It wasn't what he intended when he started this game with Grell today, oh no. At first, he was simply going to enjoy Grell's company, enjoy the laughs they always shared. And he wasn't mistaken, Grell brought him an abundance of laughter. Undertaker was pleasantly surprised Grell had agreed to work with him in return for a peek at his eyes. Oh, how shamelessly the red reaper begged for the privilege. He-he!

That was the deal.

It all started the moment the younger reaper had gotten that first glimpse of Undertaker's own yellow-green shinigami eyes, many months ago. After that, Grell began paying the mortician regular visits and this allusive game between them began. A game that even Undertaker himself was not prepared for, at first. They would have tea, per usual, and Grell would make Undertaker laugh, but not because he asked for it. It was never intentional there was just something about Grell that put the old reaper in stitches. In fact, both of them laughed way too much when they were together.

By the end of each visit, Grell would plead, or sometimes ask nicely, but mostly he would beg, _fu-fu_, for a look at Undertaker's face. Unable to deny Grell's requests, Undertaker would grant him the pleasure even if he felt a bit like a specimen under a looking glass.

It was definitely flattering and somewhere in between, the retired shinigami grew to admire Grell's equally beautiful eyes and face. For when Grell was busy staring at him, he was staring at Grell. Undertaker would be lying if he said that he didn't think Grell was truly the prettiest reaper in all the realms between this side of heaven and hell.

He wasn't making that up. Earlier, he was telling Grell the truth.

Ah yes, the exquisite Grell Sutcliff with hair as scarlet as the blood that seeped from his wonderful corpses. My, how Undertaker's fingers positively itched to stroke such pretty hair, which was definitely his favourite feature. He wanted to touch his skin, too, which was so fair and soft looking. It made him wonder how it would look if he scratched his nails across it or how it would taste. Oh me oh my, he _especially_ wanted to know that.

Indeed, Undertaker has taken a fancy to the red reaper.

It wasn't just about admiration for Grell's beauty that intrigued Undertaker, it was every little thing about him. His thirst for life was evident by how he reaped and how he threw caution to the wind by not conforming into one of those stuffy by-the-book shinigami. He regularly by broke the rules, he followed his own dress code. Grell was a delightfully rare shinigami that followed the desires of his heart. Certainly, he paid the consequences and quite often at that, but it never stopped him for long.

Undertaker understood that kind of person for he was the biggest rule breaker of them all. He conformed for no one.

Nevertheless, he always kept Grell at a distance, not fully trusting the man seeing as he only knew him as an acquaintance that often tagged along with Ciel and that demon butler of his, or, as one-half Jack the Ripper. They barely spoke to each other during those days but he was aware that Grell was known for going off the rails, his track sometimes leading to violent dead ends. So each time Grell came to visit, it proved to strengthen the bond flourishing between them. The old reaper even went out of his way to bring Grell small joys and he shamelessly found himself flirting too. But Grell never seemed to catch on seeing as he assumed Undertaker was simply a raving lunatic, therefore incapable of such frivolity, how foolish.

How foolish, indeed.

That was fine with Undertaker—it was fun for a little while but now that game was getting old. The redhead truly had no idea he had captured the heart of the old reaper. How was he to know that each visit was slowly winding Undertaker around his dainty little pinkie and that there was almost nothing, the he would not do for him.

Grell was none the wiser.

Cautious by nature, Undertaker examined Grell's character during these visits, his precarious temperament, even his loyalty. Today he released his Death Scythe on the younger reaper and it certainly was not because he had sneezed. Fu-fu-fu.

Oh, the look on Grell's face today was made of priceless win. _Cross-eyed lady!_ _Waa! Ha-ha!_ Undertaker was busting a gut just thinking about it, crumpled over top of one of his coffins, clinging onto it like a flotation device.

On the contrary, he had released the scythe to see what Grell would do, how he would respond. The mortician was happy to say that Grell passed the test and did not release his own Death Scythe in retaliation.

Bonds were important. It separated the useless from the useful, the fakers and the liars.

Of course, tonight Undertaker could not hold back his burning curiosity when he asked Grell if he was a friend or a foe—at all times one certainly had to be vigilant. Undertaker had to know whether Grell had learned anything about killing people that he once called 'friends', like his dear Madam Red. Her miserable fate had rested in the palm of Grell's selfish whims.

Undertaker knew some of that madness though, better than most people would expect. He certainly wasn't a puritan either, maybe he even had a few of his own skeletons. If there is one thing Undertaker has learned in all his centuries of life was that certain friends were really important. Especially those friends that brought laughter and love into his being, those were priceless friends.

Undertaker would kill to keep those friends.

The mortician thought about all this as he got back to work, tidying up his implements. Then he went to set a large pot of water to boil over a fire in the pantry for a bath later. As he puttered about the parlor, Undertaker noticed something while still wearing Grell's glass that brought a scowl to his face. It was the braided red bookmark, which he had secretly made from Grell's lovely coat. He had used the patches of material stitched around the lining in case the coat should ever need a small repair at the tailors. There was no harm done really, Grell did not even notice… _He-he!_

With a soft grunt, he peered into the coffin full of dead roses and plucked out his black leather journal. Evidently, someone had been tampering with it. It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure it out, the mortician shot a glance over at Grell who was still fast asleep on top of the coffin next to Thomas, tugging the cloak Undertaker had draped over him up to his chin. As Grell unconsciously snuggled into the makeshift blanket, he yanked it too high exposing his booted feet.

"Why yes, darling... show me the honey," Grell murmured dreamily.

Undertaker had to clap a hand to his mouth to stifle a hoot. Grell was even funny when he slept! Alas, he had to be quiet lest he wake the slumbering redhead. _No more outbursts_, he chided himself. Undertaker did not want to wake him, not just yet.

The mortician returned to his journal, flipping it to his favourite entry and placed the bookmark there. He could not be sure just how much Grell might have read and he wondered if he should be angry or relieved about it. _Do you understand now, Miss Grell? Are you satisfied?_

On the other hand, judging by Grell's behaviour today he probably didn't understand the contents of the journal. Unless that's what Grell was getting at earlier when he accused Undertaker of having a 'secret agenda' today. Undertaker tapped his lip with a black fingernail in thought, he couldn't be sure. He was right about right thing though, Grell was quite the cheeky fella.

_Well then, how about I show you just what I meant since you are so curious..._

Undertaker decided it was time to move this game along yet again. And tonight was the perfect time, the perfect opportunity. Adjusting the glasses with a knuckle, he wore a soft smile on his face wondering how the night would unfold.

The ex-reaper finished his duties and at last, turned the dead bolt on the front door of his shop. He stood absolutely still for a moment, savouring the end-of-day feeling. Oh yes, it was just how Undertaker preferred.

Quiet. Dark. Peaceful.

Kind of how it feels to be inside of a coffin. His best ideas came to mind in the middle of the night, along with some of his best laughs too, while lying in a coffin. The hours of darkness proved to be the best time to test out a few theories or experiments or perhaps even scaring a few neighbours, which some of his experiments resulted in. Oh, how they would scream and scream…

'Twas such fun! He always slept like a baby after that.

However, tonight was a little different. Tonight, a beautiful red-haired reaper was in his company and it tickled Undertaker pink.

His chain of mourning lockets jingled pleasantly, making the only sound in the shadowy parlor as he shuffled over to Grell's side. With little effort, Undertaker scooped Grell up into his arms and carried him to a cozy padded coffin, something a little warmer and softer than the hard surface of a closed coffin. He set Grell down inside ever so gently, adjusting the cloak over him dotingly once again. He retrieved the oil lamp and returned quickly, seeing as most of the candles from earlier in the evening had burned down to little nothings.

Setting his lamp on a nearby coffin, Undertaker knelt next to Grell and watched him while he slept. He got comfortable on the hard floor, resting his arms on the edge of the coffin as one might do on a balcony balustrade. He wasn't looking out over a scenic garden landscape or a moonlit river way, Undertaker was admiring something a hundred times better than that. He was admiring his beautiful friend who truly seemed dead considering Grell had stopped breathing. Undertaker smiled crookedly, shinigami could do that, sleep without breathing.

He was tempted to pinch Grell's cute little nose with his fingers and blow warm air into his lungs, just to pretend he was bringing the red reaper back to life. Kukuku… Like his own little puppet.

It was amusing because that was how Undertaker met Grell, in his true crimson form, for the first time. Grell had fallen asleep one day by a pond and stopped breathing. Thinking he was a dead body, he had been delivered to Undertaker's funeral parlor. Sadly, Undertaker discovered he wasn't looking at a dead body at all! It was only Grell.

He was chuckling softly at the memory because at the time Grell did not know that he was a shinigami too.

"My dear Grell, I'll never forget how you viciously choked me, stole the clothing off my back and buried me in that salt," Undertaker whispered with disturbing fondness. "It was fun to pretend back then and let you believe you had such power over me." His drawn out laughter was manic, but again he toned it down trying to be considerate of the resting reaper.

"If you had only looked further you would have seen that we shared the same iris that day." Only, Grell was too busy strutting around like a peacock thinking he had outwitted him. Tee!

Undertaker smirked. The reaperlings of today will never learn.

Indeed, Grell was younger than he was, in reaper years that is, but time is practically meaningless for shinigami. The years come and go, arrive and depart, hither and thither. Nevertheless, their bodies do not age that much. The only thing that truly ages is their experience, the lessons learned, their fighting prowess. A reaper's Death Scythe could only get deadlier with time.

Undertaker removed his tall, tailed hat dropping it aimlessly to the floor. He placed the side of his head on his arms with a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he were longingly watching a lover. He hesitated to touch Grell, he wanted to very much so, but the divine anticipation was just too thrilling. He had learned that patience can be an exquisite thing and he revelled in the torment.

He wanted to savour each and every bite.

Although, Undertaker knew he did not have all night to wallow in his divine torture. If he did that, he would miss the opportunity William had given him and that would be a terrible shame. If he rest here all nice and cozy for too long, he would end up falling asleep right here at the side of Grell's coffin, subsequently risking a throttling by the redhead for being 'creepy' when he woke up. He understood though, Grell was still untrusting of him it was only natural.

Tonight was now or never, even if he had no clue how Grell would react to his advances. Undertaker envisioned this experience to be akin to sticking his hand into the cage of a wild animal. He scoffed with amusement, he very well might have his hand torn to shreds or… kissed sweetly with affection.

Undertaker direly hoped for the latter.

His hand cautiously reached into the cage and collected a lock of Grell's red hair in his fingers. Undertaker twittered with sheer delight. Oh, how long he has desired to touch this hair. "As silky as a spider's webbing it is." He murmured to himself as he let the handful of red silk slide over his fingers.

Undertaker knew Grell's hair was pretty but feeling it at his own leisure was better than he ever expected. He played with it for a while, threading it around his fingers, admiring its wavy texture. Undertaker always saw the beauty in details. Leaning in closer he brought a handful of hair under his nose, relishing in its scent and smoothing the crimson tresses along the side of his face and across his pale lips.

Every fine hair on his body bristled, the sensation made Undertaker shiver all over. "So lovely…" he sighed. The legendary reaper wore an enormous toothy grin.

Grell's eyes fluttered open just in time to hear Undertaker purring like a kitten close by—_really_ close by. He blinked sleepily, trying to remember where he was and how he got there. His blinking became more frantic, however, when he tried to focus his eyes but found that he could not. Everything was blurry! Alarmed, his eyes darted towards the purring sound and he gasped.

Undertaker gasped too.

Grell was startled for two reasons. One: Undertaker was examining him with a handful of his red hair in his long, bony fingers. Two: the most exquisite pair of eyes stared back at him and Grell was in sudden awe. He admired those beautiful, glowing green eyes with their long, sweeping silver lashes, accented by a set of delicate silver brows. Their radiance compelled most to stop whatever they were doing and stare, words suddenly forgotten on one's tongue. Grell got lost in them every single time. Every time he saw them, he forgot about the loon that actually owned them.

It was what Grell had worked so damn hard to see today.

The red reaper was blushing like a virgin maiden. It was incredible how handsome Undertaker became when he wasn't hiding behind his ashen hair, posing as an feeble old man. Now, those beautiful eyes were studying him with mischievous intent, framed by a pair of red glasses. Hmm, eyewear did good things for Undertaker's overall style, Grell thought agreeably. However, red really wasn't the man's colour.

Wait a minute…

Grell suddenly frowned at his ridiculous train of thought and shook the dreamy fog from his mind. _"Scoundrel…!"_ He charged with a shrill. "Give me back those glasses!"

Undertaker merely simpered, releasing Grell's hair. "My, you startled me there—didn't expect you to wake up so soon. But it's nice to see that you don't always have to rely on your glasses," he said merrily. "He-he, did you get a good look?"

"Not as good as I would like since you're _wearing_ my glasses." Grell pointed out dryly. Being nearsighted didn't affect objects that were close up, only objects that are further away. Grell could make out Undertaker's face at this range sure enough, but not perfectly. "I could get into big trouble if I get caught without them and I really can't afford any more trouble. It's a violation to take them off," he informed, sounding cranky, still rousing from his nap. "Lest you forgot..."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten, my dear." Undertaker removed the glasses without any objection. "I just don't care about those daft rules anymore, you see."

"Hrmph, I guess not," Grell replied and flustered a little as Undertaker leaned over, slipping the glasses onto his face and lifting his hair over the beaded neck chain ever so gently. For a brow-raising moment, Grell felt like one of Undertaker's corpses. "I—I don't know how you do it—see without them," he muttered quietly, observing the old reaper's amazing eyes now with clear vision. Grell bit his lip. Looking at Undertaker's true self did crazy things to the flow of his blood. He also couldn't help but notice how the old reaper was blushing, something he did each time he stared at his face.

Why, yes, Grell did notice that.

"I've grown accustomed to not wearing glasses. It's quite remarkable how a reaper can adjust. I have developed a way. You should try it."

Grell sniffed. "Not a chance. I—I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"It's quite simple you—"

"_William!_" Grell cried, interrupting frantically as if he just realized. A look of pure panic filled his lovely features. "I wasn't supposed to fall asleep. He's going to be furious with me for being away this long. I'll be suspended. My beloved chainsaw—he'll make me resort to using scissors again. A reaper such as I cannot be taken seriously with a Death Scythe of such small girth!" Grell was in pure anguish.

Undertaker reached over and soothingly pet over Grell's head. He whispered kindly, "Hush, hush, my dear. I sent him away."

One silver-lashed eye was staring at Grell while the other hid behind hair that Undertaker could not tame. The red reaper blinked at the mortician as if he did not know who he was. Indeed, who was this man without his silly hat, a handsome face with that cruel scar and eyes that held his soul captive within their gaze?

"You did…?" Grell questioned, clearly baffled, his focus still on that one lovely green eye as Undertaker comforted him. It was difficult to fret about William, when all he could think about was finding a way to keep Undertaker's dratted hair out of his eyes so he could wallow in their beauty. "But how did you do that…?"

"I made him a deal he couldn't refuse." Undertaker explained. "In exchange for you staying out of trouble, I agreed to help him out on a mission."

_"You did…?"_ The red reaper repeated, completely bewildered now.

Undertaker chuckled airily. "Yes, indeed. I don't mind, it could be fun—a trip down memory lane as it were."

"Why… why would you do that for me?" Grell was clearly stupefied.

The old reaper shrugged. "Because you were sleeping so peacefully…"

Geez, Undertaker was such a conundrum sometimes, Grell thought with a frown. Why couldn't he just be straight up with him instead of all the mind games? Cripes, the things this guy would do for a laugh. The mortician's dark cloak fell to his lap when Grell sat up and realized with utter dismay that he was inside a coffin again.

He bemoaned loudly. "_Why_ do I always end up in a coffin? Is this supposed to be a joke? Pfft!"

"It seemed wrong to continue to let you rest on top of a hard wooden box, my dear. I placed you here instead, where it's more comfortable." Undertaker told him simply.

"Oh, well… it is kind of nice." Grell relented. He _was_ comfortable. "I guess I owe you my gratitude. I had a great…" He stretched and yawned. "…nap."

"I'm glad to hear it but there is no need for that," Undertaker reproved with a wave of his hand. "You worked hard today and I owe you much more than what you requested of me. Come now, William agreed to let you stay here tonight, trouble free. Is there anything you'd like me to do for you, my lady?" A cunning smile grew on his face. "I can think of a few enchanting things… if you're willing."

The odd chuckle that followed Undertaker's provocative statement made Grell raise his brows slightly. That chuckle was not quite like the others chuckles he had ever heard, and he's heard quite a few.

"Are you flirting with me, Under-darling?" Grell wondered his tone lined with intrigue. He gave a lewd chuckle of his own. "You must be forgetting who you're talking to… I _am_ the killer queen of flirting."

"Perhaps, but you're technique needs a little practice, my dear."

Grell's expression went flat. His eyes shot daggers at the mortician.

"Vile beast! How dare you say that with such earnest," he snapped and bared his teeth, ready to fight back in the worst kind of way. "And just _what_did you think you were doing watching me sleep—touching my hair? I saw you, fiend! You're lucky those charming eyes of yours are still intact."

Undertaker just smiled coolly at him, the eyes in mention twinkling with something Grell had never seen before. It set his heart a pitter-pattering. There was something different about the retired shinigami tonight.

"Don't take offense, Grell. I only meant that you are a wonderful flirt, very outspoken and kind of to the point but I never know if you are teasing or serious." Undertaker was being sincere.

Tch! Grell could say the same about him. So, he did. "You're not exactly clear most of the time, Undertaker. So what are you getting at?" he snapped.

Grell's eyes widened as Undertaker moved in closer. Close enough that he could feel the old reaper's warm breath on his neck as he placed his lips next to his ear and whispered hotly.

"Let's play a different sort of game..."

The red reaper inhaled sharply at the seductive sound of Undertaker's normally eerie, mischievous tone. But before he even had a chance to respond, Undertaker climbed into the coffin with him the way the undead crawled out of their graves.

"W-what are you doing?" Grell stammered, his heart racing even faster now.

Undertaker chuckled with delicious intent. "What does it look like? I am declaring my desire for you."

Grell gave a shocked squeak as Undertaker urged him back against the cushioned coffin. He looked up in astonishment, his head resting on the soft cushioning below, as Undertaker hovered above him like a wraith wearing a crooked grin. The silver-haired reaper's face was shadowed in the dim light, but his eyes were brightly illuminated. His knees were on either side of Grell's hips and he straddled his thighs, his hands gripping the edge of the coffin. He could hear Undertaker's nails scratching against the fine finished wood. Grell's mouth hung open, silent words caught there, words of disbelief and words hoping for a damn good explanation, however, there probably wasn't one.

_Oooh…_ Parts of Grell's body twitched and responded tremendously. The mortician was being so bold and uncouth yet it sent thrills to every corner of his body. For a moment, Grell had to wonder if this was what it felt like for all the souls that succumbed to Undertakers' reaping. Heaven have mercy!

When Grell found his voice again, he asked utterly perplexed. "You desire me…?" It sounded as incredulous as the red reaper felt. He was blushing again fiercely. "I had no idea…"

Grell mildly entertain the notion, that he could just shove Undertaker off him and run screaming through town like a crazed banshee. As eccentric as the old reaper was, with his quirky laughter and his peculiar hobbies, Grell secretly wondered if the man was any good in the sack. It was a tantalizing thought and it was only natural for him to wonder, he was a sexually open-minded individual after all.

It was also very interesting to know that perhaps Undertaker was not immune to his flirts and Grell felt as if he had discovered a wicked little weakness. Not that he would just offer his body to any ol' chap, Grell wasn't that kind of lady no matter how vivaciously he spoke of 'vigorous' activities and such. Of course being a proper lady, Grell should also point out that the time spent working alongside the old shinigami today was rather enjoyable, too. Today was the first time he thought of Undertaker as being a real friend, since the man always treated him respectfully and truly seemed to enjoy his company. Grell had to confess they made a good team today and it was quite satisfying—dare he say, it was even fun.

Undertaker chuffed. "Yes, I know you didn't know and that's alright, I wasn't very obvious about it but I had my reasons, you see. I did not think you would take me seriously any other way, which is why I am being so forward with you this evening, my dear." Undertaker softly dragged a fingernail along Grell's jaw line. "Truly, if I have to squander another one of your visits, watching you leave… I might very well lose my mind."

Grell just blinked dumbfounded for a moment. Then he laughed deeply.

"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" Grell teased and flashed Undertaker an eloquent smile. "I must say, handsome, this side of you has me on tenterhooks," he admitted and reached up with a gloved hand, impatiently sweeping Undertaker's shaggy bangs aside. Grell growled his appreciation—their eyes meeting truthfully. For once, he did not have to guess what Undertaker was scheming because there was no hiding it. Right now, the mortician's intent was set strongly in his sexy eyes, seducing him, clearly extruding desire with his expression. Grell finally understood why Undertaker hid his gems, because if he did not everyone would see right through his wild tales, besides discovering he was not human. People would remember him if he flaunted it all, however, people do not remember a dishevelled looking old undertaker.

Grell was curious now, how the man above him might feel if he touched him, but not in the playful sort of way. There seemed to be something really forbidden about touching someone like Undertaker, he always felt kind of off limits to Grell. Now it was clear that he was not on the restricted list anymore and Grell _really_ wanted a taste. He began to reach out—_drat!_ He was still wearing gloves. Grell tore one glove off ferociously with his teeth and bit into his own fingers in his greedy haste.

Grell winced.

The mortician clucked his tongue. "Oh dear, you are a menace to yourself, little miss. Give it here, let me see," Undertaker offered courteously. He sat up, resting against Grell's thighs and inspected the self-inflicted injury carefully. He watched the blood pool like quivering drops at the tips of Grell's index and middle finger. And when the drops spilled over, streaking down Grell's palm, Undertaker keenly used his tongue to clean the crimson trails. He traced a hot wet path all the way from Grell's wrist, over his palm and along his fingers, catching the blood before it stained Grell's pristine white shirt cuff.

"Just a little pricking is all," Undertaker murmured.

Grell was enamoured by how sensually the mortician tended his fingers, feasting on his blood. He'd never seen Undertaker do anything that hot before. It really was such a turn on for him and for a moment, he gazed on entranced.

"Let me clean them thoroughly for you," Undertaker whispered appreciatively and put the bloody fingers into his mouth, sucking them gently.

Grell's mouth parted and he sighed with pleasure at the heat provided by Undertaker's mouth. He could feel the man's tongue caressing his fingers intimately, gently. Grell's body was flaming now, more so than usual. Wow, perhaps the old reaper did have some game after all.

_Sebas-chan… Who…?_

Right now, there was only one person that occupied Grell's attention and that man was throwing himself at him like a hot tramp—one sexy, mysterious ex-reaper with a penchant for death. He'd take it. _Amen!_ He would take it anywhere Undertaker wanted to put it, Grell thought wickedly.

Carefully this time, Grell removed his other glove with his teeth while Undertaker kissed his injured fingers. He raked his fingers through the old reaper's silver hair again with his other hand, noting how luscious it was, so fine and soft. Undertaker slipped the bleeding fingers out of his mouth, leaving a bloody streak painted across his ghostly lips.

Grell's eyes went directly to Undertaker's available mouth as he moved in closer to him.

They watched each other quietly, the mortician's necklace shifting over Grell's throat like a snake slithering across his neck. Both reapers seemed to stop breathing.

"Oh, kiss me you damn fool!" Grell cried, yanking the Undertaker down to him savagely, crushing his lips to the other shinigami's mouth.

The mortician let out a yelp of surprise, his body fallen flush on top of Grell's, their mouths fiercely pressed together. He began to chuckle merrily when he overcame the sudden attack and eagerly kissed Grell in return. Ah, it was heavenly as Grell's hands kneaded through his hair, fingers digging into the back of his neck. Parts of his body wriggled against the firm body beneath him and this kiss—Undertaker opened his mouth and Grell invaded him hotly with his tongue.

Undertaker moaned now, too, with pure delight and closed his eyes. Yet, he adjusted his upper body so his hands were on either side of Grell's shoulders, allowing him to prop himself up again. The advantage allowed him to direct the kiss with his own fervor, permitting him to slip his tongue past Grell's lips this time. However, he wasn't thinking and he'd forgotten how sharp Grell's teeth were and nicked his tongue in his enthusiasm. He giggled within the kiss though. Somehow, kissing Grell became more dangerous and it made Undertaker ache terribly.

With his hands full of soft silver tresses, Grell began to paw over the man above him, who felt remarkably solid and lithe underneath. He let his hands glide along Undertaker's back, along his sides to his hips over the black-buttoned frock he wore. However, before he could discover what Undertakers' backside felt like in both his hands his fingers snared into the chain of lockets.

That caused Undertaker to break away from their heated kissing. "Careful," the mortician warned breathlessly, his lips all kiss-tender and wet. "I'd hate to break that."

"Then maybe you should take it off," Grell suggested wickedly. "Along with everything else…"

Undertaker grinned smugly. "As you wish but I have one request first," he presented. "May I tell you?"

Grell flashed his shark-toothed smile when he saw Undertaker looking down at him, his mischievous glow openly presented for him to admire. "And what would that be, handsome? Don't tell me you're the shy type—I don't want to do it in the dark," he insisted.

"Oh no, it's not that." Undertaker snickered playfully. "My request is simple… I wish for you to allow me to tend to your needs this evening, seeing as you are my guest," he explained carefully.

At the word 'guest', Grell's eyes widened in complete terror. "Oh, I_knew_it! You're going to put my lovely parts into a jar! I'm too young and beautiful to die. Spare me!" He tried to squirm out from under the Undertaker frantically.

Undertaker sighed dreadfully. Not _that_ again…

He kept Grell patiently pinned to the coffin with some effort. "I promise I will do no such thing, my sweet. That is not my intention at all." He couldn't help but chuckle a little bit, normally it was fun watching people freak out, but he really didn't want Grell to be freaking out _right_ now.

Right now, Undertaker was more in the mood for love than laughs.

The redhead calmed down and stared at the old reaper, panting from his reckless attempts at escape. Grell should have known that undertaking the Undertaker was a futile endeavour—the old reaper clearly outwitted him ten to one. Not that he would admit that to anyone.

"Did you plan this all along, Undertaker?" Grell voiced suspiciously. "Is that why you agreed to William's proposition?"

Undertaker shook his head. "Would you believe me if I said, I did not?" he replied earnestly.

"Yes and no," the red reaper admitted. "You are a scoundrel after all."

"Perhaps, I am." Undertaker agreed. "I will admit that I coaxed you into keeping me company today and it was such fun, you see. If you had told me to drop dead with the work detail, I would have just let you see my face anyways, you know."

Grell scoffed at the 'drop dead' part.

"However, the moment your somnolent head hit the coffin in heavenly slumber and William came to retrieve you… I—I could not let you go. Not when I have so much more to share with you." Undertaker leaned down to bury his nose affectionately into the crook of Grell's neck, pressing soft kisses against the tender spot at the base of his ear. "Stay with me tonight, pretty reaper. I swear, I would never hurt you," Undertaker whispered against his throat sweetly. "Unless you want me to…"

The red reaper felt Undertaker grinning shrewdly against his neck. "And what if I refuse your advances?" Grell wondered curiously.

Undertaker lifted his head to look Grell directly in the face, all smiles vanishing. "If that is what you want then I will stop my coarse actions right now. We'll forget this ever happened." He began to push himself up.

Grell frowned and pulled Undertaker back down roughly. "Not so fast darling, I didn't say I was refusing you. I… I just don't want you to think I'm an easy skirt."

The old reaper smiled knowingly. "If I thought you were a shameless whore then I wouldn't have bothered to ask for your permission, my dear. Albeit, you can perform like a shameless whore but I know it is all part of your act. Still, I'm not that kind of creature and prefer it when the other party is willing. That's much more pleasurable."

"Stop saying 'shameless whore' you nitwit," Grell scoffed indignantly.

"My apologies," the retired reaper said genuinely and asked. "Do you know what I like best when you come to visit me?" Grell just blinked at him so very perplexed. "Your company, because it makes me happy—puts this old soul of mine in such high spirits. I know you are much more than an easy skirt. Should I profess all the ways that make you wonderful, Grell Sutcliff?"

Undertaker had used his full name respectfully, instead of 'my dear' and 'my' whatever. Grell knew he was being serious. "You would do that?" he wondered and gushed, "You _really_ think I'm wonderful?!"

"Mmm, yes I do," the old reaper assured. "And yes I would do that, in fact, I already have, but it seems you haven't figured it out. It certainly answers a few things I had on my mind earlier." Undertaker felt somewhat relieved. Miscommunication is a terrible thing… especially when it is not intended, that is.

"Oh, what is it?" Grell questioned. It was hard to hide the excitement in his voice. "Please tell me what you're talking about?"

"I will show you something later, it will surely answer everything. I give you my word. Now, may I ask that you have faith in me, pretty reaper? Just this once at least," the mortician requested and smiled, burying his nose in Grell's hair again making him giggle, much to his delight.

Bursting with curiosity at what Undertaker was getting at, Grell knew he would have to be patient to find out what Undertaker wanted to show him. "Oh alright, darling," he answered willingly. "Just call me 'pretty reaper' again and I'll let you do whatever you want." He laughed playfully as the old reaper nibbled on his ear.

Undertaker's voice came muffled while buried in Grell's hair, but it was very sincere. "Anything you like, _My. Pretty. Reaper_…"

Grell was swooning! Not only was Undertaker being incredibly hot he was incredibly skilled thus far and it seemed he was capable of a little romance, too. Grell was awestruck and flattered by all that was happening. Hrmph! A man Grell thought merely as a nutter, that had lost more than a few of his shiny marbles, did not seem so crazy at all right now. Actually, it would seem as if Undertaker was rather smitten with him and that warm fuzzy feeling he felt earlier, when the old reaper gave him those heart-shaped cookies returned.

*gasp* Those sneaky cookies…

It was not just a simple gesture, Grell realized now. Maybe Undertaker has been giving him hints all along and he was too blind to notice them. Maybe he's been too busy thinking about all those other hot lovelies, who would not even give him the time of day, and missing out on this hot lovely _right here_ that was secretly besotted with him. The way he called him 'my pretty reaper', Grell _really_ loved how Undertaker said it, as if he was most special person in the whole wide world...

The mortician had achieved the impossible. Grell was speechless...

However, it could only be temporary.

Undertaker lifted his head again after the unusual silence and looked worriedly at Grell. "Wuz that matter, cat got your tongue?"

"Eeeyeah!" Grell squealed, wrapping Undertaker up in powerful embrace. He rocked them back and forth like giddy lovers, laughing madly. "I do believe I have just solved your riddle, darling," he said raucously. "I see why you asked me those strange questions this evening. Oh, everything makes sense now. You were just sniffing around, hoping to find out if I was interested or if I wanted to bleed you out for shits and giggles. How outrageously blind I have been. Ha-ha! Now I know why every time I admire your beauty you are blushing like a bad boy." He growled. "I sure _do_love them bad boys." Grell was over the moon. "I know your yummy little secret. You tried to conceal it but you can't anymore because you want_meeee!_"

Undertaker made a strange choking sound in reply. Once again, Grell was crushing the breath out of him.

"I beg for jewels and you give me the stars! _Oooh!_ Where have you been hiding all this time, Under-_darling_?" Grell continued his lively sonata. "Have you inhaled too many embalming chemicals—has it messed up your head—does that even affect us reapers?" Grell was going off on tangents. "Why have you kept this passionate freak locked away in a gloomy funeral parlor for so long? I beg of thee…"

The mortician lifted his head and wrung out his ear with a knuckle. He laughed uneasily, thrown slightly by Grell's crazed outburst, which was somewhat paradoxical being on the other end of it. Tit for tat, he supposed.

"Hurry! Let's make passionate love _right now!_" Grell insisted vehemently.

"Oh my," Undertaker pretended to be coy.

"Oh wait…! Not so fast." Grell frowned with a dire thought. He'd have to cool his jets a little bit longer. "Listen, do we have to do this in a coffin? I know that it's your thing and it's hot, don't get me wrong but we're so restricted in here. Don't you have a bedroom with a nice bed perchance?" Grell inquired, batting his lashes. "Ugh, my back is starting to get a little stiff, besides _other_ things."

Undertaker smiled widely, pushing himself up and climbing out of the coffin. He held a hand out to Grell. "Follow me, my sweet and I'll let you in on another one of my secrets," he claimed. "I haven't shown anyone else this but like I told you, you've earned a few tidbits today."

"Oooh! Then lead the way, hot stuff." Grell eagerly clasped onto the mortician's hand and climbed out of the coffin, leaving Undertaker's heavy cloak within it.

Undertaker picked up the oil lamp in one hand and held onto Grell's hand with the other. He led the red reaper to another coffin that stood up against a wall in the main showroom. "Could you please hold this, my dear?" He held out the oil lamp to Grell.

With a frown, Grell took the lamp and complained. "Seriously, _another_ coffin…? You, darling, have some real intimacy issues."

The old reaper chuckled cleverly. "That's what you think," he replied and slid the coffin lid to the side. "Hold that light up a bit, it's pretty dark and this catch is hard to find."

Curious as to what Undertaker was talking about, Grell brought the oil lamp closer for a better look. The mortician made a pleased sound, as he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, and before Grell's eyes, the back part of the coffin opened too. Undertaker reached back for the lamp and Grell handed it to him. With his hand clasped to Undertaker's again, this time a little harder, he stepped into the coffin and entered a secret space behind the wall.

"You devil, you have a hidden room back here," Grell said with astonishment.

His eyes took in the small room with bare brick walls. The entire space was a menagerie of strange collections, some from other eras, almost like a museum. There was a very spooky looking mannequin with removable body parts, a weird dead creature in a glass jar on a small table next to an old cracked urn, and a tall, standing grandfather clock with its hands stopped at 3:07 stood on the far right wall with a giant medieval sword propped against it. There was a wind-up musical box shaped like a carousel on a shelf with many other knickknacks and old books filling its shelf.

What surprised Grell the most was the wrought iron bed placed right in the center, with a plush purple bedspread and fat black, linen-covered pillows that appeared to be filled with down. It actually looked sinfully inviting and warm for these cold London Town nights. Undertaker had even hung a lovely painting of a rose, a single red rose in full bloom, above his bed. Something about that image nagged at his subconscious, but he waved it off.

The dusty room was oddly rich and academic looking for someone like Undertaker and Grell wasn't sure what to say. "This… this is quaint. I'm a bit surprised you have a hidden pearl like this in your tired old shop."

"It's more amusing to let everyone believe I sleep in coffins." Undertaker giggled impishly. "Sometimes I do—it helps me think, you see. However, there you have it—a real bed. It's really cozy and bouncy, too. Why don't you give it a good jumpin'?

"Cute, darling, but I'll pass on that kind of jumping for now." Grell assured.

Undertaker laughed. "You are a funny one, Grell, so very funny. Now you just wait here for a moment."

"Where are you going?" Grell said uneasily, suddenly gluing himself to Undertaker's back nervously. He didn't want to be left alone with all these haunting objects. The room was so dark and the lamp light only made it look more ominous.

Undertaker urged Grell to let go of him and handed over the lamp. "Not to fret, my dear. The only thing in here that bites is_meee_." He gave a throaty chuckle.

"You're not funny." Grell huffed.

The old reaper tilted his head and smiled. "You won't be saying that later. I _will_ make you laugh." He smoothed his hand across Grell's cheek, playfully scratching his nails under his cute chin. "Besides other things…"

"Scoundrel…" Grell said sheepishly.

"I'm only going to fetch the hot water for a bath. I thought my lady would like to wash up after a hard days' work," Undertaker offered politely. "I would certainly like one myself. It is only proper."

The man made a sensible point. "I would love to wash up, you know—before…" Grell looked away blushing like a fool all the sudden.

"Oh yes, of course. As I mentioned, I'll take care of you tonight—_nothing_ would make me happier," Undertaker reminded him.

Grell blushed harder while holding his hands to his cheeks. "You're driving me crazy! Just hurry back."

Undertaker wore a crafty smile. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing. "I would offer the bathtub but it would take much too long to fill and I can't say I'm feeling especially patient tonight."

"Tell me about it," Grell mused.

Undertaker grinned. "I hope you know I fully intend to bathe you myself..."

Leaving Grell with his jaw nearly on the floor, Undertaker turned and disappeared into the pitch dark of the parlor on the other side of the secret passage. The mortician's mad chuckles fading as he wandered further away.

"Cool, confident and well, _damn…_" Grell huggled himself with glee, he had really pegged the Undertaker all wrong. The redhead was never so glad to be so wrong. Here he thought the man was just going to ravage him in that coffin like a bowl full of cherries, but it seemed Undertaker was not in a mad rush, he wanted to play a little first.

Grell's fondness grew tenfold for the old reaper.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** What did you think of the secret room? I want one lol! When I first saw Undertaker come out of that standing coffin, with green eyes glowing, I wondered to myself if there was a secret room behind it. Hehe! That's where I got this idea.

Anyone watch the horror flick, The Conjuring? Remember all the clocks were stopped at 3:07 :P Oh yeah…

The hotness continues big time in the next chapter. Run don't walk!


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

With a sigh, Grell had no choice but to wait for the mortician's return. He held up the oil lamp, looking around the room. Much to his joy, he saw a collection of candles on the shelf with the music box and a few long matchsticks. He set the lamp next to the jar with the dead creature in it and went about finding perfect spots to place the candles. He lifted the glass of the oil lamp to light the sticks and set all the candles aglow.

"Much better," Grell said, pleased with his efficiency. The room felt more comfortable now and he didn't need to keep holding the lamp. Now that it was brighter in here, he saw a hook intended for oil lamps and hung it up.

Feeling a bit more at ease, Grell removed his red coat. He flung it over the weird mannequin's head with repugnance, "Sorry pal, but you're killing the mood."

Then he found a dusty old mirror hanging on the wall and fluffed out his hair. It was a horrid dishevelled mess from the make-out scene in the coffin and from Undertaker messing with it so much. He smirked, blew a kiss at his reflection and said, "Who wouldn't want this parcel all wrapped up in a bow?" Upon closer inspection, Grell pursed his lips. "Ugh, darling your eye make-up is fading."

"Tsk. Hasn't anyone ever told you that a creature such as yourself shouldn't require cosmetics? You are as beautiful as a summer garden bursting with red roses, my dear."

The redhead spun around, startled. Grell waved his hand at the silly man, "Flattery will get you everywhere, handsome."

Undertaker chuckled and poured a large pitcher full of hot water into a white porcelain washbasin decorated with blue floral prints that sat on a bedside table. He dropped in two washcloths. "Be back in a jiffy!" He sang and dashed from the room again, returning a moment later with a few other items.

Grell stood watching as Undertaker fussed about. He'd never seen him like this before, all hustle and bustle. "Ooh," he sounded approvingly. "You brought more of that elderberry cordial. Yes, please!"

"I thought you might like a small nip, my lady. I did get this wine especially for you." Undertaker poured two beakers half full with the sweet liquid. He handed Grell the drink and took a generous sip of his own before asking, "I wonder if you're in need of some nourishment, too? Please do not hesitate to ask me should you need anything."

"Oh, quite the gentlemen aren't we," Grell praised and took the wine, drinking it eagerly this time. What fun it was to be dotted on just how a lady should be dotted on, Grell thought virtuously, soaking up such chivalry. However, what Grell said next was not very chivalrous at all. He smiled wickedly at the other man. "The only thing I'm hungry for right now is _you_."

"Oh, well, well…" A cunning smirk played over Undertaker's face as he gestured to Grell to come to him, curling one long finger.

Grell's eyes lit up as the mortician stood there beckoning to him like the sly devil he was. He let his eyes roam, admiring how Undertaker looked without his funerary hat, wearing his long, black robe adorned with that chain he fussed over. He loved how Undertaker's beautiful hair, long and flowing, hung past his waist like spun silver. And how those buckled boots showed more leg without the long-sleeved outer cloak and sash—the man definitely knew how to hide the goods. What Grell loved the most was how Undertaker kept sweeping back his hair as if he was doing it just for him, knowing just how much he admired his lovely face.

Gah! It wasn't fair how Undertaker could change from a drool-giggling fool into a come-hither vixen just like that.

"Come to me, my dear," Undertaker petitioned again, this time out loud.

Grell sauntered over calmly trying so hard not to squeal and flutter, like a foolish lass. He could be a vixen too, dammit!

The mortician took the beaker of wine from Grell and set it on a small table along with his own. Then he said, "Now be a good girl and hold still while I remove these clothes of yours and bathe your sullied corpse—" He gasped with shock. Undertaker glanced at Grell with wide eyes. "Oppsie…" He sang and laughed anxiously. "Old habit…old habit, too much time spent with deceased folk. _He-he!_ "

Grell simply glared at Undertaker murderously. "How dare you!" he cried. "If I _were_ a corpse, I would be the most beautiful. My body is far from_sullied_, you ignoramus!"

Undertaker held up his hands in surrender and cut his laughter off at the quick. "A poor choice of words, truly it was a mistake. I really should get out more," he confessed, giggling feebly again. Grell's reaction really was funny even if he didn't mean to say that to him. He was surprised that Grell got so mad at him for the term 'sullied' rather than 'corpse'.

What an amusing little redhead.

Undertaker reached over and began tugging at Grell's striped tie, unravelling it slowly. "Of course you'd be the most beautiful corpse, my dear—I'd be flattered if I was the one that got to bury you, how lovely." He chuckled and twirled one end of the tie around his finger. "I wouldn't have to do a thing to prepare you because you're always in _perfect _condition."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Grell's face.

"Ah, see…" Undertaker didn't miss that little smile, waggling a finger at Grell. "You know I'm right. Now," he said smoothly, "Allow me to unveil the perfect picture underneath." He yanked the tie from Grell's neck swiftly and tossed it aside.

Grell was still giving the mortician a chilly look, but he waved off the slip-up. "Just mind your tongue, handsome, it's no way to speak to a _living_lady."

"It will not happen again," Undertaker assured and pressed a finger firmly to Grell's pouting lips. "Come now. Let's not fret over petty errors any longer." He demanded softly but his demeanor was firm, his face stern.

There was that controlling side again, the one Undertaker had shown Grell this morning when he grabbed him by his coat. It quickly had Grell turning into a wriggling mass of jelly again. "I really do love a man that knows what he wants and grabs the bull by the horns—and I'm so very horny, darling." He laughed naughtily. "Divest me of this wretched clothing!"

Once again, the old reaper did not need telling twice.

Grell's excitement was like putting a firecracker into a tin can. He was positively explosive with anticipation and tried with great difficulty to keep still as Undertaker began to remove his clothing, piece by tantalizing piece. First went the vest and then his boots. When Grell glanced down, the mortician just smiled up at him as if this was the best gift anyone had ever given him.

"Fool," Grell taunted mischievously.

Undertaker's smile became a suave one and he stood back up. Without a reply, he continued his task of disrobing the redhead. The mortician unbuttoned Grell's shirt and brushed his hands over perfect skin as light and soft as a peach, pushing the material from his shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up.

Grell heard the silver-haired reaper swallowing hard as he touched him. "Do you like what you see, handsome, cause I really think you do."

All Undertaker could do in response right now… was giggle.

The redhead frowned and rolled his eyes. "Good grief," Grell sighed incredulously. "I'm going to take that as your 'I'm speechless because you're sizzling hot' laugh. Do tell me I'm wrong?"

Undertaker just shook his head.

Grell grinned triumphantly. "Darling, you're drooling…"

The mortician idly wiped his chin with his sleeve. Grell's beauty was… _breathtaking_. Mmm, his hands lingered over his skin, totally enthralled by its heat and splendor, its beautiful shape over tight, lean muscle and sinew. How the candlelight accentuated every attractive dip and curve where joints met and bones told the story underneath. Grell was right…

Undertaker _was_ speechless.

Without further delay, he stripped the redhead of every hindering stitch and Undertaker took a moment to appreciate the red angel of death standing before him. He held a finger to his chin, his unhidden eyes soaking up every bare inch of Grell's beautiful naked body.

"My, my…" He purred.

Once Undertaker got this far, he definitely wanted a whole lot more. This lovely redhead was waiting, well… impatiently waiting, he-he, for him to send him soaring. Grell was not alone in that regard, Undertaker's patience was wearing thin. He had the very mind to forgo everything and take the redhead against the wall like an animal, over, and over, and over again.

However, Grell deserved much more than that.

"You're already excited to see me," Undertaker told Grell with a naughty twitter, noting his erect length all pink and standing at his full attention. He strolled around the redhead to get a nice look at everything. The soft roundness of Grell's shoulders, the elegant slope of his back and the nice swell of his charming backside. He gazed over long legs and back up again over his genitals surrounded by a tuft of crimson curls. Undertaker wanted to prod Grell's cute little bellybutton with a finger or his tongue. He will… later, he-he.

The hunger in Undertaker's eyes gave Grell all the confidence he needed so that he did not stand there like an exposed, quivering flower. The man was in every sense of the expression, circling him like a predator on the prowl. Under such lustful scrutiny, Grell not only felt like a 'pretty reaper', he felt like the sexiest reaper alive! And Undertaker told him that with just one look. It drove him wild.

Undertaker retrieved a washcloth and wrung it out, returning to Grell's side in all eagerness. "I surely don't deserve this treat. Even if you asked me to stop now, I don't think I could."

"If you stop now pal_, _you're dead meat!" Grell threatened severely.

"Oh dear, then let's not dawdle."

The mortician brought the hot, damp cloth to Grell's body and ever so carefully washed away the days' grime. His hand was firm but gentle, the cloth caressing Grell's neck and shoulders, rivulets of water racing along his spine and down his legs to his toes. The red reaper watched as Undertaker bathed him with one hand and used his other hand to explore and caress. It was the most sensual thing anyone has ever done for him, Grell shivered deliciously.

"Are you chilled?" Undertaker wondered looking up with concern when Grell trembled, noting the goose bumps dappling his skin. "It is quite nippy this evening and here I have you all stark and wet."

"I'm just revving up my engine, darling," Grell assured and sighed as the washing cloth smoothed up along his inner thigh, right between his legs and boldly over his erection. The redhead suddenly reached out and grasped Undertaker's shoulder for support, lest he crumpled into a heap on the floor.

The man missed nothing.

Grell shivered again and bit his lip. "You're _sooo_ good at this," he purred heatedly. "But why don't you get undressed and let me play a little, too?" He used the ace up his sleeve. "You did say I could have whatever I wish tonight since I am your guest. Don't make me beg again."

Undertaker observed the redhead batting his eyelashes at him sweetly. "Fu-fu. Alright…"

_Wow, that was almost too easy._ Grell thought in astonishment.

The mortician unfastened his mourning chain first, setting the lockets on the bedside table. Then he took a seat at the edge of the bed and began working the buckles loose on his boots, boots that went to mid-thigh Grell noticed, his tongue nearly lolling from his mouth.

"Please! Let me assist." Grell beseeched, his virtual tail wagging again. He knelt in front of Undertaker and shooed the man's hands away in a flurry, undoing the rest of the buckles with glee. Then he pulled the black-leather boots off Undertaker's feet and set them aside.

Undertaker was chuckling softly at Grell's pushiness. He pressed off the bed, urging Grell to stand too. "You have my thanks, my dear. Those boots are a right chore."

"A little sacrifice never killed anyone in the name of beauty," Grell alleged stubbornly.

Undertaker was about to point out that many people indeed have died in the name of beauty but he did not get the chance. Grell grabbed at him covetously nearly ripping the buttons off his shirt, undoing them impatiently.

"Get naked _now_," Grell demanded.

"Why can't I undress myself?" Undertaker rebuked, feeling like Grell's personal ragdoll all the sudden. "I'm a big reaper now." But he didn't fight it, he played along. It was all part of the fun.

"Yes you are, but you are a brazen tease and you will be clothed all night if I stand here and wait." Grell told him indignantly. "Besides you got to divest cute little me and now I'm returning the favour."

What fun, Undertaker so loved the easy banter they shared, especially now of all times. It reminded him that even if the trust between them was still growing, their bond was quite tenacious.

"I'm sure that's not the only reason," Undertaker taunted, pushing his hair aside with his fingers. He didn't want to miss anything.

Grell laughed seductively. "You know me so well, gorgeous. Of course, I just can't keep my hands off of you."

The mortician could not help but smile thoughtfully, gracious to all the powers greater than he was that this fiery redhead embraced his affections with eye-opening enthusiasm. He reached over and caressed the side of Grell's face with the back of his hand in a startling gesture of fondness, causing the redhead to look up at him quickly. "Then by all means," he encouraged with a fetching smile, "… put your hands all over me."

Grell giggled in such a way, he sounded very much like a girl just then, a hot blush staining the crests of his cheeks. Undertaker also loved that he could make Grell burn with passion painting his beautiful face with just a few sexy words.

"Oh, you are a charmer, darling, a real minx," Grell claimed. "I shouldn't be so surprised though. Seems you are a pretty good actor yourself—letting everyone believe you are a mad old man. Old man my arse—mad, perhaps." He taunted and pushed the black robe from Undertaker's broad shoulders letting the material slide to the floor. It left the mortician wearing only his fitted black pants that fit snug against his lean waist and the necklace. "But I must say I do like this side of you much better," Grell said, the double-entendre definitely on purpose. His eyes trailed over the ex-reaper's body, which was taut with smooth pallid skin. It reminded Grell of warmed cream as he spread his hands liberally across Undertaker's chest, brushing over nicely sculpted pectorals and down over his abdomen.

"People see what they want to see and not what they should," Undertaker enlightened as Grell's hands left hot trails on his flesh.

"I guess I'm guilty of that, thinking I knew what you were about but… how wrong I was," Grell said and asked meekly, "Forgive me?"

Undertaker beamed. "A thousand times over…"

Grell grinned at that and spoke in a sultry voice, "Mmm, I'm gonna lap up every hot drop of your honey… _honey._" Then he chuckled ever so mischievously.

"Oh, the things you say, my dear. _He-he-he!_" The silver-haired reaper had to chuckle too at the use of that line again.

"You're such a dish," Grell murmured and wrapped his arms around the man, surprisingly grabbing Undertaker's backside fully in two hands. The red reaper brought their bodies together roughly. "These trousers of yours suggest a firm tush and I…" *squeeze-squeeze* "…just had to find out for myself."

And what Undertaker loved the most was how Grell made him feel so _alive_…

"Is that so?" The side of Undertaker's mouth curled up devilishly as he smoothed one hand over the redhead's bare rump and dug his nails in, _hard_.

Grell cried out hotly as if orgasmic.

The silver-haired shinigami revelled in Grell's shrill howl. Chuckling, Undertaker retracted his nails and patted Grell's bare bottom playfully. "Why, you have a splendid backside too, my lady."

"You sure know how to put those nails of yours to good use. Mmmm, I don't mind it a little rough." Grell's tone was almost daring. Yet, he released the mortician and stepped back, rubbing his own smarting ass while Undertaker wasn't looking.

Grell eagerly stood watching and let the older reaper shed the rest of his clothes by himself, but he stopped him before he removed the black-beaded necklace. "Keep it on, handsome," he told him with a wink.

The old reaper shrugged and left the necklace dangling over his bare chest. Other than that, Undertaker stood there naked as a jaybird.

The red reaper held a hand to his chest. "Y-you're gorgeous," he stammered.

Grell was always so outspoken and Undertaker had to chuckle humbly. The redhead was staring at a whole lot _more_ than just his eyes now.

"Ooh, it's my turn," Grell sang with glee and picked up the other washcloth from the basin.

Undertaker fully intended to bathe himself since Grell was his guest and he was supposed to be the gracious host here. Nevertheless, he thought with an inward smile, he did not mind the idea one bit. "If you must," he said pleasantly.

"I insist, I insist," Grell declared. He simpered and cooed as he washed all over Undertaker's lovely fair skin and long limbs. He was mindful of all that silver hair, holding it this way and that as he worked. As he swept the warm wet cloth, down along Undertaker's back Grell had a poetic thought. The old soul reaper was like a butterfly hiding in a cocoon of frumpy clothes.

However, once his cloth reached Undertaker's backside, Grell got ridiculously distracted for a moment. He licked his lips as he admired a most delicious pale rump. It was just too tempting...

Undertaker squawked unceremoniously when Grell sunk his teeth into his rear, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. The mortician glanced sharply over his shoulder down at Grell with a slightly pained look in his eyes. The redhead chuckled impishly, he was not letting go.

"That was unexpected to say the least," Undertaker said breathlessly and then, what else, he began to laugh hysterically. "Ha-ha-ha, _owwie_…! Let go! Waa-ha-ha!"

Grell reluctantly let go, snapping his razor-sharp teeth mischievously at the legendary reaper. For a brief moment he wondered what William would say if he knew exactly what kind of trouble he was causing this very moment—leaving bite marks on the notorious Undertaker. Grell gave a lewd chuckle just at the thought. It filled his chest with an odd sense of pride.

"That's payback for sinking your nails into my backside, darling. Though, I'm quite tempted to bite the other cheek just to hear you make that appealing sound again." Grell warned smugly.

"Fair enough, I deserved that," Undertaker granted. "But I was hoping to be the one that got the first bite."

"All's fair in love and war," the red reaper informed.

Undertaker couldn't argue with that.

Grell noticed with amusement how twitchy Undertaker was as he continued to wash him, especially when he neared his backside, which was still marked with the indentations of his pointy teeth. Oh, what an enjoyable partner Undertaker was tonight and they haven't even gotten to the steamy stuff yet. Grell smiled and turned his thoughts to fluffier things for a moment, because deep down he was a diehard romantic. Indeed, the retired shinigami was not how he imagined in all of his wildest dreams and Grell had to wonder what it would be like to belong to a beautiful butterfly like Undertaker.

Alas, he could not help but wonder, a part of him really hoping this was not just a one-night stand.

"You're much too quiet," Undertaker began carefully, noting how the washcloth had stopped moving and Grell stood there in front of him staring off into oblivion. "What are you pondering about in that fiery head of yours?"

Grell blinked out of his reverie, eyes focusing on Undertaker's face. He was not ready to share his innermost thoughts about butterflies. Instead, he smiled wickedly as he knelt to finish bathing the ex-reaper as if nothing strange occurred at all. With a spry look, Grell's eyes admired and washed a very male part of the Undertaker.

"Oooh, it seems as if the hair on your head isn't the only thing that's silver," Grell pointed out with a fiendish laugh.

Undertaker gave Grell a lop-sided grin. "_That's_ what you were thinking about?"

"Hmmm, maybe," Grell said without any more of an explanation, making sure his washcloth didn't miss a spot either. He palmed the washcloth firmly around the man's stiff cock. "What do you know—you're excited to see me, too. For a while there you were making me lonely..."

For the first time ever, Undertaker got the feeling Grell was keeping something important from him. That wasn't how it was supposed to work but right now was not the time to ponder. Grell was touching him intimately and Undertaker ached so hard. Besides, he knew when he heard a lady's desirable plea.

Grell had waited long enough.

In one fell swoop, Undertaker lifted a startled Grell into his arms, retaking command. He placed the redhead down in the middle of the purple bedspread gently, plucking the washcloth from his fingers and tossing it into the basin with a splash. Then he crawled over top of the fairest and barest lady, whose lovely shinigami eyes were wide with astonishment behind rose-coloured glasses.

"You don't ever have to feel lonely when you're with me, pretty red reaper," Undertaker murmured ever so sensually. "You're as intoxicating as laughter and I'm dreadfully addicted…"

Grell was utterly gobsmacked.

Undertaker captured Grell's speechless mouth in a steamy kiss, sweeping the glasses from his face and gently loosed the chain, reaching out blindly and setting them next to his lockets on the nightstand. He didn't want to break the specs and he surely didn't want them to hinder him from kissing all over Grell's lovely face. He didn't want them to obstruct his fingers as they combed through Grell's vermilion hair.

The redhead sighed as Undertaker's nails grazed gently over his scalp causing him to moan out and tremble beneath him. Mmm, he was such a good kisser, his lips felt so soft and urgent and Grell could taste the elderberry wine still lingering on Undertaker's tongue. He let him have total control, their kisses grew deeper and wetter, and their bodies pressed together reminded them both of the terrible longing they both shared.

Undertaker pulled back for a moment to gaze at the younger reaper beneath him, admiring his swollen wet lips and adorable blushing face. "You look like a scrumptious tart lying here in my bed with hair all pooled about the pillow like a mangled rose."

Eyes all fogged by desire, Grell blinked some of that haze away. "You compare me to roses quite often, darling, not that I mind," he said breathlessly. "Red roses are my favourite flower. I mean, _really, _it shouldn't come as a shock." He played with the necklace that was tickling the side of his face as Undertaker watched him patiently. "Now I remember why that painting above your bed nagged me. I was meaning to ask you about that coffin filled with dead roses. Why do you have such an arbitrary collection?"

The old reaper thought about it for a moment. "He-he, I should make you pay me for that answer—"

Menacingly, Grell narrowed his eyes.

"—alright, _fine_… I'll tell you." He scoffed. "I had full intentions of giving them to you, dear. However, I chickened out. You can be quite intimidating sometimes." Undertaker told him frankly.

Grell was positively purring beneath the Undertaker now. "And wretchedly they all died and you placed them in a coffin as a keepsake. _How romantic…!_"

Undertaker grinned goofily. "I'm glad you think so."

The red reaper was igniting all over—all those roses _for him!_ There had to be dozens upon dozens in there. Yes, the flowers were pitiful and dead now, but that wasn't the point. Oh, the night was positively growing sweeter by the second. Feeling tremendously turned-on, Grell thread his fingers through the mortician's hair and yanked, bringing the old reaper's mouth to his again.

Undertaker sighed heatedly and rubbed himself against Grell's hip in response.

The redhead whined sweetly at the hard friction as Undertaker changed the course of his lips to kiss under Grell's chin and along his throat. He suckled noisily and used his teeth to scrape softly, sometimes sharply, over tender skin enjoying how Grell's hands found their way to his ass again. But those hands glided along his back as Undertaker explored lower, licking and tasting Grell's chest and navel, leaving his own string of bite marks all over the redhead's flesh.

With glorious sighs escaping his parted lips, Grell squirmed delectably. He quivered from the sensation of silver strands ghosting over his skin and how blissfully, Undertaker assaulted him with his mouth. It was such divine torture. The stinging rasp of nails drew a hiss from Grell as Undertaker scratched under his thighs. The stinging, though, was quickly forgotten when the old reaper laved his tongue hotly along the length of his swollen cock.

"Oh dear lord," Grell breathed out.

Undertaker knelt between Grell's legs, one arm wrapped around his upper leg like a snake, nails gripping his thigh hard. His other hand found its way to Grell's belly, his thumb happily circling that cute belly button he admired earlier while he went down on him.

To say the mortician's tongue was skilled was an understatement, Grell thought as it wriggled and swirled in a pattern he'd never felt before. That eager tongue explored everywhere and everything. It had Grell pressing his head hard against the pillows and reaching down to grab handfuls of ashen hair in two tight fists. He mewled softly as Undertaker tended his length steadily, his mouth incredibly warm and wet. Just when Grell thought it couldn't get any hotter, the man used those talons of his to graze under his balls, causing him to thrust up, driving his cock further down Undertaker's throat.

Ooh, the old reaper had a good gag reflex, too.

When Grell looked down at the action, he saw the glow of Undertaker's eyes peaking through his hair, watching his reactions. The man grinned at him with a mouth full of cock.

Grell grinned back. "Quite the talent you have there," he praised, panting softly. "Mmm… but I wonder if you'd let me do the same or… are you troubled that I might dismember you?"

With a wet slurp, Undertaker brought his head up and pushed back his hair so he could look at Grell directly. "I'm not worried in the slightest," he replied confidently. "I might even enjoy a little nibble or two."

Now Grell's grin went diabolical. "Then give it for I have some worthy talent of my own, you know."

They switched positions. Undertaker gladly flopped back with his head against the pillows. He was all smiles and lust while Grell was all trouble and passion.

Grell rest back on his legs and admired Undertaker's long lanky body sprawled before him, his eyes completely hidden again, wearing that silly smirk on his face. "Ooh, where to start with you," Grell said enticingly. "I've been given a key and I can't decide what hole to put it in." He chuckled at his wayward joke.

Undertaker's smirk broke into a huge toothy grin.

Grell decided he would start from the bottom and work his way up, opposite of the path Undertaker took. He smoothed his hands along the old reaper's legs, leaning down to sample the tender skin of his inner thigh with his tongue. The skin was sweet and fresh from the recent bath and Grell drew his tongue along lasciviously. With one hand, Grell clasped his fingers around Undertaker's ample cock, thrilled by well it fit in his grip. The redhead began to stroke him as he wickedly pricked his teeth along his thigh gingerly.

Undertaker's leg twitched. "Eee! I'm so very ticklish."

With and inward smile, Grell realized he had discovered another one of the man's weaknesses. He mentally tucked that jewel away as he brought his mouth to Undertaker's length. He held it up, flicking his tongue off the juicy tip.

Undertaker gasped softly.

Triumphant with that response, Grell went for the showstopper and surprisingly swallowed the entire length into his mouth until the head of old reaper's cock hit the back of his throat.

"Blue blazes!"

Hearing Undertaker curse hell was something else and Grell moaned with appreciation enjoying what he was doing to the man. His pace was eager and steady as he sucked the entire length all while being mindful of his teeth. He felt Undertaker's fingers moving through his hair collecting it and keeping it from getting in the way. Grell flashed sultry eyes in his direction. The old reaper was blurry without his glasses but he could definitely make out a rapturous smile. Better than that, he could hear his exulted sighs of pleasure.

Undertaker marvelled at the vision of Grell's red head bobbing before him, his lips wrapped wetly around his flesh. Ahhh, it was so lovely. He closed his eyes to savour the sensation, his own body alive with desire. But when Grell's intensity increased further Undertaker felt stirrings he didn't want to feel just yet.

"Slow down, my dear," urged the mortician whimsically. "Don't want to end the merrymaking too soon. _He-he._"

Grell got the hint. He removed Undertaker's length from his mouth and gave it one long lick. Then he batted his lashes innocently at the old reaper before and gave the head of his cock a firm nipping—just to cool him off a bit.

The man merely squeaked with breathy giggles.

_Oh?_ Perhaps Undertaker was ticklish _there_ as well, Grell thought wryly. However, not to be distracted by ticklish man parts, Grell purred his way across the old shinigami's body as he crawled over top of him. When he came face to face with Undertaker, he teased him into thinking he was going to kiss him again. But he only kissed his cheek playfully, receiving a low groan from the old reaper. Instead, Grell pressed gentle kisses all over his face brushing silver locks of hair away, resting both his hands on top of his head. Just to let the man know he found every part of him hot, Grell was sure to feather kisses across Undertaker's jagged facial scar.

"Close your eyes," he requested softly. Undertaker complied and Grell pressed his lips to each silver-lashed eyelid tenderly.

Undertaker happily soaked up the attention.

Grell's lips travelled to one ear where he explored, playing over the mortician's piercings with his tongue and mouth. He whispered, "Indeed, you have hidden this intriguing side of you so very well, Undertaker."

"As I mentioned, a gentleman never shares all of his secrets," Undertaker reminded him quietly. "Leaves a little for the imagination, something new to discover by and by, don't you think?"

That was an interesting way to put it. "Is that an invitation you're proposing?" Grell countered resting the side of his face against Undertaker's cheek.

"Clever," the old reaper replied favourably. "And if it was an invitation, would you accept?"

The red reaper smiled.

"A lady has her secrets, too. Let me think about it," Grell answered coolly, giving Undertaker a taste of his own medicine. Inside Grell was secretly bursting with wonder at Undertaker's mysterious words, but he was a wonderful actress after all. He wasn't about to promise anything to the crafty old reaper just yet. How did he know Undertaker wasn't just playing another mind game with him, since the man seemed to love taunting his sensibilities. He played it cool, for now.

Undertaker frowned, that was not what he was hoping to hear. "Not fair, my lady," he complained.

"It's not so fun being on the other side of the fence now is it, darling?" Grell crooned, moving his head to look directly at Undertaker now. "Since when have you known me to play fair?"

"Wily creature…"

Grell sneered at him, "Troub-le-maker."

The cool silence that followed completely unnerved Grell as Undertaker gazed at him with no expression at all. For a chilling moment, he wondered if he'd pissed him off. Just as he was about to apologize Undertaker pounced as if he'd just caught his prey, rolling them over and pinning him down against the bed roughly.

"You're driving me mad." Undertaker's tone was intense.

"Oh yes!" Grell growled, excitedly. "Don't hold back, lover."

Undertaker's heated disposition softened into a devious smirk again as he reached over for the scented oil from the nightstand. He had brought it along with the wine and hot water. It worked as a wonderful lubricant for such scenarios since he had no desire at all to bring his lover that kind of pain. "I will be as gentle as I can until you're comfortable. But I fear I cannot prepare you properly with nails such as these…" He waggled his fingers fiendishly in front of him. "—a real handicap on my part."

"Then allow me to change position to make things a little easier all around, hmm?" Grell suggested.

Undertaker moved out of the way and watched Grell reposition himself. The redhead turned on his side with one leg straight out and the other leg slightly spread in front of it, bent at the knee. The mortician smiled knowingly, Grell had some knowledge of anatomy as well, especially when it came to his nether regions. _He-he!_

"That will do just fine," agreed Undertaker. He lay down behind Grell and shuffled his body up against him nice and snug. Using the oil from the small vile, he applied the slick substance to himself and massaged it generously against Grell's entrance as well. Then, he guided himself inside pressing the head of his cock into that tight orifice.

Grell's mouth parted with a shaky sigh his brows creasing. He squeezed his eyes shut.

When Undertaker wasn't being silly he was actually very loving and affectionate. He was especially mindful of Grell's responses watching and listening carefully, lulling the redhead, caressing a hand over his arm softly and kissing the side of his face tenderly. He did this as he eased himself in gradually allowing the red reaper's body to adjust around him. When he was buried to the hilt he held still for a moment, relishing in the heat and how Grell's body squeezed his cock. But it must have been a moment too long.

The redhead looked back at him impatiently and demanded, "_Do it_ already."

Undertaker gave an airy chuckle. "Like this…?"

A delightful shudder passed the red reaper's lips. He sighed and mewled with every soft thrust as a sea of red began to wash over his eyes. "Oh yesss…" he sounded in utter bliss, "Just like that." He felt as if he could spontaneously combust and perhaps he was on fire as Undertaker stoked his flame. The old reaper's pace was unhurried but steady as he warmed them up.

Undertaker released soft rumbles next to the redhead's ear as he fucked him his hand clasped around Grell's cock and tugging him firmly. He didn't want Grell to feel neglected in the slightest.

Grell peered over his shoulder Undertaker's mouth was set in certain determination and breath moving noticeably passed his lips his eyes concealed once more. The redhead parted a few silver strands with his finger to find a pair of smoldering eyes watching him intently.

The redhead's cock throbbed within Undertaker's grasp the moment he looked at his eyes. It made him smile sweetly at Grell purr close to his ear. Some say the soul can be seen through a person's eyes and he wondered if Grell could see his, perhaps. He's never known one reaper to prove it untrue. And if Grell really saw something he couldn't, does it scare him? Undertaker chuckled at his wondrous thoughts and held himself inside as he changed their position.

Grell felt the old reaper urging him to his knees, so he got on his fours. Remarkably, the man was able to maneuver them without removing himself even once.

Now that Undertaker was sure Grell was comfortable and pliable, he really wanted to pound his pretty little ass. "Let's see if I can make you_screeeam_… with delight, of course." He laughed darkly.

"Such a big talker—"

_Thrust!_

"AH!" Grell cried out. Undertaker chuffed behind him victoriously.

_Thrust! Thrust!_

Grell cried out again and flashed astonished eyes behind him. The silver-haired reaper just grinned at him wickedly.

"You might want to hold onto something," Undertaker suggested.

The paced increased by a tenfold and a stinging steak of heat burned across Grell's face. Undertaker was taking him hard and fast, slamming into him. For a moment, Grell choked on a wholesome wail of ecstasy. For a breathless moment, he thought he might even pass out. It was glorious! The sea of red raged inside of him now as his body shook and quaked with every knock. The old reaper had real stamina, as he did not seem as if he would slow down any time soon.

Grell grabbed the bedspread fiercely, his cries music to Undertaker's ears.

Undertaker breathed heavily as he relentlessly drilled the redhead, holding him securely by the hips, his nails cutting into Grell's sides. With gritted teeth, his thighs smacked loudly off the red reaper's ass as every lovely howl that Grell made brought him closer and closer to the edge. But he wasn't going to stop until he gave Grell the best shag of his life.

"Oh mercy! Mercy!" Grell was pleading, but he didn't mean it.

For a moment, Undertaker removed himself and Grell looked back with a disappointed whine. However, he realized quickly that the old reaper was only shifting into a different position. He hovered over him, clinging to his back with legs spread on either side of his hips and both feet planted squarely on the bed. When his cock stabbed back into him, Grell felt it hit his sweet spot.

He gave a guttural scream of sheer pleasure.

With arms wrapped around Grell's chest for support, Undertaker moved his hips like a well-oiled machine. He was grunting softly now with all the effort, sweat moistening his body. He really gave it to Grell, a first-rate fuck.

The red reaper was in a state of extreme rapture, his body never taken so hard before. What an amazing position, he did not want this fun to end but he could no longer hold himself up. His body gave out, he sunk to the bed in a pitiful heap, and Undertaker chuckled unexpectedly as he went down with him.

Chest rising and falling heavily Undertaker panted, "Is everything alright?"

"Why are you stopping?" Grell bemoaned. "_Please_… don't stop…"

"Fu-fu-fu!" Undertaker's laugh was a randy one as he continued to fuck the red reaper who was flat on his stomach while he was sprawled over top. "You feel _sooo_ bloody lovely," he murmured, driving his hips swiftly.

They kept at it until Grell declared, "I'm so close but I don't want to come all over your bedspread."

Undertaker blinked and slowed for a moment. "Right now, my dear… I don't give a damn." But, Grell had a point and Undertaker manage to conjure a better idea from it. He pushed himself up and Grell turned around until he lay on his back looking up at him.

"My, my, aren't you a sight you naughty girl," Undertaker mused. Grell's face was flushed pink along with his entire body that was covered in scratches and teeth marks. He parted the redhead's legs and pointed out one other thing. "Oh, looksie… I do believe _you're_ the one drooling now." With an evil twitter, he slammed back into Grell with eerie precision not giving him a chance for a reply.

Undertaker was determined to keep Grell a right mess until he reached his utopia.

The old shinigami clung onto Grell as he lay on top of him and the redhead wrapped his legs around his waist. Undertaker buried his head against the red reaper's shoulder thrusting into him with everything he had. Mmm, he was getting blissfully close now, too.

Grell was panting hard against Undertaker's ear as his entire body began to tense.

Undertaker knew what was coming and he brought up his head setting his sights on Grell's face. He told him fervently, "Show me your soul, beautiful."

_That_ was all it took and Grell came undone. He unleashed his glorious climax, a heated song of orgasm. His cock pulsed between their bellies releasing his burden. Grell was panting and shuddering with every red wave that washed over him.

Undertaker was in awe at the sight of his pretty reaper in the throes of release and he and gave his final thrusts, the entire sensory overload before him bringing him to his otherworldly peak. He pushed himself up and pulled out coming all over Grell's stomach, a few shots even reached the red head's collarbone.

Slowly winding down from his release, Grell witnessed the sexiest side of Undertaker he had ever seen. Gone was the maddening smile, the mischief in his eyes. The sweet pain on his face replaced all of that. His brows furrowed with eyes squeezed shut and his mouth parted as shaky breaths flitted passed his lips. Grell watched him pumping the last drop of honey from his spent cock and he groaned with appreciation.

Having no shame, Grell smoothed his hand at the base of his neck spreading the essence Undertaker placed there. He was deeply impressed by the distance the man was able to achieve. It was definitely brag-worthy. And just like he promised, Grell licked the honey from his fingers, one by one.

"Oh… you _are_ a sweet thing," he raved not minding the taste on his fingers at all.

For a long moment, Undertaker just stared at Grell as he cleaned his fingers. Then he suddenly exploded with raucous peals of laughter. Grell always said the funniest things and this time it took the cake! Right now, he could not contain it, Undertaker laughed so hard he lost his balance and fell right off the end the bed.

Grell sat up with a start. All he could see was a pair of blurry bare feet sticking straight up into the air at the foot of the bed. And for the life of him, he laughed, too! It was the funniest sight. He quickly grabbed his glasses and crawled to the end of the bed, looking down between those feet to see Undertaker flounced on the floor shaking with mirth.

"It's no wonder you didn't hurt yourself you silly man," Grell told him like a mother hen, holding a hand to his mouth to stifle his giddy chuckles. Laughing came much easier after a nice romp and Grell was in a fine mood.

Abruptly Grell realized what he was doing. "Eww! Guess which hand I just used on my face?"

Undertaker laughed thunderously now, so hard it sounded like he was almost crying. Perhaps he was because tears leaked from his eyes over his gasps and howls. "T-that's the f-funniest thing e-ver! HE-HE-HE! WAAAAA HA-HA!"

For once Grell truly joined in on a good laugh with the man. Undertaker was right, it _was_ really funny. When Grell was finished giggling, he simply admired Undertaker's laughing face that was completely unveiled to him. Oh, he was a mad butterfly, no doubt but...

Grell smiled thoughtfully. He was a beautiful mad butterfly.

The red reaper climbed off the bed. He left Undertaker to his other form of climax while he retrieved the washcloth and cleaned himself up. The water was cold now, but it was refreshing. "I'm just going to use the ladies room," Grell announced, stealing Undertaker's black cloak that lay directly at his feet. He slipped into it and held it closed before stepping out into the dark funeral parlor.

Undertaker managed to get it together eventually and once he calmed down, he yawned loudly. He felt utterly spent but he smiled—it was a good kind of spent. He got off the floor and cleaned himself up as well. Then he wandered into the parlor in the buff because he could not find his shirt imagining he'd find Grell in the privy but he wasn't there. When Undertaker returned to the main room, he remembered something important as a shiver crawled up his spine. It was chilly! He rushed back to the room and climbed into the bed quickly to warm up.

A few minutes later, the redhead wandered back into the room casually.

"How did that just happen?" Undertaker asked amused and perplexed, realizing Grell had stolen his clothing and was carrying something in his arm. "Where did you disappear to?"

It turned out Grell was holding the urn full of heart-shaped cookies. "I hope you don't mind but I raided your pantry and this is the only recognizable item I could find in the dark," he explained and smiled as he viewed the mortician huddled underneath the blankets. He lay there on his side facing him with his elbow on the pillow and his head propped on his hand, all that silver hair swirling all around him.

Undertaker's stomach growled with perfect timing. "Bless your heart—bring them biscuits here and jump in bed," he urged with a soft twitter, patting the empty spot next to him happily.

Grell threw off the black garment and joined him, snuggling under the covers, rubbing his cold feet against Undertaker's warm tootsies. Together they devoured the cookies after working up such a fierce appetite and washed them down with their unfinished beakers of elderberry wine.

Undertaker gave the bedspread a good ruffle to throw the crumbs out before he held out an arm for Grell to come closer. The redhead blushed even after all they had done together and scooted in close, laying on his back with his head on the man's arm. Undertaker was watching Grell silently, using a nail to brush strands of red hair away from his face and glasses.

Grell shivered as the nail drew a line down his throat and along the middle of his chest idly. "Are you pretending to eviscerate me," he mused.

Undertaker smiled. "And have all your lovely insides come spilling out?" he murmured over a yawn. "Haven't I already told you I like them just where they are? Tsk."

The red reaper grinned at Undertaker's drowsy banter. "You sound so sleepy, darling."

Undertaker's hand stilled, resting on Grell's tummy as his eyes closed against his will. "Remember I told you I wanted to show you something? Check under your pillow… read where I left the bookmark. It's my favourite and I..."

Waiting for him to finish, Grell looked over at Undertaker but he was sound asleep. Ever so curious, Grell searched under his pillow until he felt something thin and hard. He released a small gasp when he realized it was the leather-bound journal from the coffin of roses. The one he had been reading earlier when he was snooping around.

Grell's face swiftly burned with chagrin.

He flashed a look at Undertaker to see if he was in trouble and that maybe this was just a trap, but the old shinigami was out cold, breathing evenly against Grell's ear. Grell suddenly had a feeling that something connected this journal to the roses in the coffin. He opened the journal with a flurry and read:

_March 20, 1890_

_I keep obsessing over the roses for they are as close as I may ever get to the real thing. That fiery soul, his thirst for blood, the beautiful reapings—yet she is a lady all soft underneath it all. To touch such softness… Do you know that each time you leave, you take a piece of my heart with you? These roses don't provide any warmth, I cannot hold them, they do not make me laugh… they've only withered and died like everything else around me. Yet, I cannot toss them like rubbish, which would be akin to ripping out my weary old soul._

_Oh, my! How dismal…Ha-ha! I sound like a poet—I'd be a great poet me thinks, undertaker by day and master poet by night. I would name my first poem, 'Grell', and I would write it on a thousand sheets of parchment and toss them from the highest tower along with all the roses in the coffin. Everyone would be scrambling as peasants do for coins to pick them up._

_Oh, that would certainly be funny!_

Grell read the page about a dozen times. And when he was finished that, he read all the other journal entries finally realizing that Undertaker was writing about him! All of this prose—it wasn't complete gibberish or madness. It was Undertaker's innermost thoughts.

Grell was stupefied.

When he finally lowered the journal to his chest, he simply stared over at the slumbering mortician in utter amazement. He stared at him for a long time knowing that somehow in some way he'd gained a piece of the ex-reaper's heart, for the man had fallen for him.

Never in all his years had anyone done anything so romantic for him. Nor had they ever shown so much appreciation. Eeee! Grell nibbled on his nails wanting so badly to crush Undertaker with sweet kisses and hugs. However, he thought the man had done enough for him for one night. Undertaker more than earned his beauty rest and Grell knew he would just have to wait.

Grell stuffed the journal back under the pillow and realized he was still lying on Undertaker's arm, even though the old reaper had shifted and was now lying on his back. He snuggled up against Undertaker's warm body and placed his head on his shoulder placing an arm across his chest.

"I accept your invitation," Grell cooed sweetly and was surprised when Undertaker wrapped his arms around him.

"That makes me happy…"

* * *

><p>A few days later Undertaker was busy stitching up a bloody corpse whistling a merry tune as he did so when a letter came through the mail slot. "Oh bother," he muttered, seeing as his hands were filthy at the moment and yet his curiosity about the mail nagged at him like usual.<p>

It could probably wait. "Yes, yes, it's just another useless advert of some sort."

But as he continued his work, trying to make this sad mangled human look presentable and pretty again, he leaned over to peer into the other room. The mail on the floor was indeed a letter and not an advert.

His curiosity had won.

"Sorry chap, but I think it's time for tea," Undertaker told his guest. He got up and washed his hands thoroughly before heading to the main room. Along the way, he stopped to sniff a vase full of fresh red roses. "You pretties are for my other pretty who promised to visit me later when he's done work, he-he!"

He continued to the main room and snatched up the letter, using his long nail to shear it open. It read:

_Sir Undertaker,_

_I suppose I have no choice but to let you off the hook in regards to eating your hat. For whatever you have done to my employee, Grell Sutcliff, the Dispatch Management Division thanks you. I will forever be in your debt. Grell's duties are complete in nearly half the time they were before. You truly are a legend but please refrain from giving me any details on this accomplishment._

_P.S. You can have that excitable moron any night you wish. As long as Grell's reports are filled, I won't have to reclaim him myself. Good day._

_William_

* * *

><p><strong>OUTTAKES!<strong>

**I had a lot of extra content, stuff I was working with but decided for the greater good not to use them. But I thought it would be fun to share them with you. Maybe you'll get a chuckle lol! I never throw this stuff away until I'm finished a fic. It's great un-edited fun.**

Undertaker giggled like a batty schoolboy.

Perplexed Undertaker replied, "I thought you knew how I felt, since you helped yourself to a little light reading earlier."

Batting his long lashes in query, Grell repeated, "A little light reading. What does that—" His words trailed off when Undertaker reached for something next to the oil lamp and held it up for Grell to see.

It was the black leather-bound diary with the red bookmark.

"Oh…" Grell muttered feebly, glancing away awkwardly. "Don't get upset, handsome. I only read two entries, I swear! It all sounded like crazy stuff… how is that supposed to have anything to do with us making out in a coffin?"

"Oops! Maybe I've jumped to far ahead. I thought you were accepting my desire because you feel the same as I do." The lovin' could wait. Right now, Undertaker had to laugh. "Too funny…!"

The laugh made Grell a bit nervous this time. "I'm not sure what you're getting at. Are you angry with me, darling? I didn't mean to use the word 'crazy'. I know I hate that word. You are 'interesting', yes, very interesting—you have a real way with words. I have no idea what you were even talking about in that journal."

Undertaker ceased his laughter. "May I read to you my favourite entry, my dear?"

Again, Grell was surprised by Undertaker's formal tone, even if he was still straddling his thighs like a hot tramp. "If you really want to, then I will give you my _full_ attention."

"Oh, I think this one will get your attention," the old reaper professed. He read:

_March 20, 1890_

_I keep obsessing over the roses for they are as close as I may ever get to the real thing. That fiery soul, his thirst for blood, the beautiful reapings—yet she is a lady all soft underneath it all. To touch such softness… Do you know that each time you leave, you take a piece of my heart with you? These roses don't provide any warmth, I cannot hold them, they do not make me laugh… they've only withered and died like everything else around me. Yet, I cannot toss them like rubbish, which would be akin to ripping out my weary old soul._

_Oh, my! How dismal…Ha-ha! I sound like a poet—I'd be a great poet me thinks, undertaker by day and master poet by night. I would name my first poem, 'Grell', and I would write it on a thousand sheets of parchment and toss them from the highest tower along with all the roses in the coffin. Everyone would be scrambling as peasants do for coins to pick them up._

_Oh, that would certainly be funny!_

When Undertaker finished, he closed the book and pushed his hair back with a sniff. "Did you already read this one? I think if you did you would have understood my intentions."

"No, I did not read _that_ one…" Grell murmured, still grasping the full weight of what Undertaker just said to him. "Do… do those roses in that coffin have something to do with me?"

He laughed goofily in awkwardness, unsure if Grell would storm out of here and never come back. That would indeed, make him very sad.

Grell laid his head back in the coffin, looking up at the ceiling.

_Well, at least he's not screaming and crying,_ Undertaker blew out a puff of air. He-he.

"Is there anything else you want to share?" Grell pursued haughtily.

Undertaker pulled out the red bookmark and said nonchalantly, "I made this from pieces of your red coat." He started the mental countdown and plugged his ears.

Four. Three. Two. One…

_"What…!"_ Grell shrieked and snatched the bookmark from Undertaker's fingers. "My beautiful coat has been ravaged! How did I not notice?"

Undertaker smiled reassuringly. "My dear, calm yourself, I didn't do any harm to your lovely coat. There were. Just how some items come with extra buttons, you see."

"So then my coat has no insurance left!" Grell was not at all pacified. He sniffed. "Then I will keep this bookmark."

Undertaker sighed. "If you insist then you may have it, my lady."

Grell made a strange face and wondered. "You're not just saying all this to have your nasty little way with me, are you?"

The old reaper lifted one brow and barked out a laugh. "I've certainly outgrown that kind of childish behaviour centuries ago. It's quite fine, I don't expect anything in return. Just know this… you're free to visit me anytime you like."

The red reaper shuffled over to the silver-haired troublemaker, who has found a completely new way to torture him, and dropped to his knees dramatically in front of the ex-reaper.

_Oh?_ Undertaker looked down at Grell in question.

"I don't deserve such besotted treatment," Grell bemoaned, overwhelmed. "You don't have to give me this—I have received my part of the bargain. You've already given me much more than I could ever dream for. Don't do it out of pity!"

The Undertaker was stunned and a little insulted. "Pity…?" he scoffed and frowned. "My dear, I am quite sure I _want_ to do this because I desire to. This has nothing to do with any kind of payment or 'bargain'. I have entertained this notion since the first time you came to visit me… on your own free will, that is. Fu-fu."

"Really…?" Grell looked up at the old reaper.

"Yes, _really_…" Undertaker chuckled and bent to haul Grell back up on his feet. "My, you're like a frightened new pet, wondering if his master will love him or kick and beat him."

"But you always let me leave…"

"Perhaps the evil master should be bitten by his unruly pet for his insensitivity." Undertaker smiled with a humbling shrug, his hands moving to the buttons on Grell's vest again. "I had to be sure of some things, you see."

Grell understood what Undertaker was trying to say. "You mean like nearly decapitating me with your Death Scythe earlier today. That _wasn't_ an accident," Grell charged. "I get it… you don't trust me. And why should you?" The redhead sighed. "I was a bad girl."

"Indeed, you were and in many ways, still are," the old reaper alleged. "My, I see you figured me out. I guess the sneeze tale was a little weak, huh?"

Grell poked Undertaker in the chest with a finger. "Just a little, darling."

Undertaker laughed loudly, totally delighted.

"I guess I'm flattered you've given this so much thought since the first time I visited you," Grell mentioned.

"That's an understatement, but you shouldn't sound so surprised," Undertaker replied sarcastically more to himself than to Grell. He gasped and giggled again childishly, rocking his head from side to side, "Oops! Did I say that out loud?"

The red reaper scowled. "What do you mean by that? You keep saying how I should understand. Spill it! Or I might still throttle you, hot stuff or not." Grell warned, hands on his hips.

Undertaker looked a bit confused. "Hmm, I'm not sure anymore." He scoffed. "I'll try to explain in a bit," the old reaper told him, his silly laughter silent for now.

"Fair enough," Grell conceded, satisfied for now. "Just so you know there is one place in particular that I wish to bite the master."

The redhead laughed evilly.

"Mmm! I can't wait to find out where." The mortician chuckled, too.

The mortician knew a feisty creature like Grell would be near impossible to tame. On the other hand, he liked Grell just the way he was, crazy, unpredictable and wonderfully naughty. If such a travesty were to happen where he was tamed, everything that made him perfect, in Undertaker's eyes, would no longer exist.

"I really had no idea you thought of me in this way."

Grell's wicked mind went into overdrive when he thought of what those gorgeous eyes would look like on him… while bedding the Undertaker. He swallowed hard and his cock gave a heavy twitch. Oh! If he had known Undertaker was a veiled perv all this time, he would have tried to jump his bones sooner!

Undertaker leaned down to bury his nose into the crook of Grell's neck, inhaling the redheads' charming scent. It brought a trill giggle out of Grell, much to his delight and he added softly next to his ear, "You have a reckless soul much like my own and you do not conform completely to the pompous rules of my past profession. In fact you break them so often," Undertaker said with amusement. "I admire such strength and your unrestricted vitality. I beg that you never change."

Grell felt the mortician grinning shrewdly against his neck. "Just for tonight…?" he wondered.

"I would ask for many nights, my dear, but I shan't get greedy." Undertaker pledged.

"What is it that you wish to give me first?" he wondered.

"Tee-hee… a bath," Undertaker replied goofily.

The firm throb Grell's cock gave was felt between both reapers.

Undertaker's grin was menacing. "I see you would like that as much as me."

"You drive a hard bargain, darling. And after that, what other kind of needs do you think I want?" Grell wondered recklessly, greatly enjoying this foreplay.

Undertaker spoke darkly, "The kind that makes you _screeeam_… with delight, of course."

For a moment Grell thought he would die right there of blood loss from his nose. "Mmm, that's like sweet music to my ears, let the symphony play." He twirled some the mortician's hair around his finger. "…call me 'pretty reaper' again, sugar, and you can do whatever you want." He felt Undertaker's grin grow even wider against his skin.

**FIN**


End file.
